


Black Wolf of Winter

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks have always been associated with winter, when winter changes the black wolf, a man comes in place of a boy, and the world will know what winter truly means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tremor

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. Skane**

**Osha**

Skaagos had been their haven for nearly a year, since the Greyjoy boy had come and turned his cloak. She had never liked the Greyjoy boy, he had been trouble, and she had always known that. The way he had acted and spoken when the young wolf had been around had been different to how he had been when the young wolf was not there. He was conceited and a liar, and she looked forward to the day that she could shove her spear through his throat and watch as he bled to death. But that was neither here nor there, they had followed the advice of the maester and when it had come to separating from the little lord- something she had not felt certain of considering what the swamp boy was talking about- she had taken little Rickon with her to Last Hearth Lands. The lands of the giants, and they had wanted to take them in, but her protests along with those of mother mole, the old woman of the giants had convinced them that it would be safer if they disappeared for good. And so they had boarded a boat provided to them by the people of the Lake and sailed to Skaagos. They had arrived at Skaagos during a quiet night, and had been greeted by the whole island it appeared they had been waiting for them, for some time. Something Osha had been worried about, but it seemed they were not as savage as she had been led to believe.

The Skaagosi had taken them and led them to Joramun Magnar, the Magnar of Magnar and the most powerful lord on Skaagos, and it was from him they had learned briefly what had befallen the north. Little Rickon was too young to fully understand what was going on, but Osha did. She had heard growing up as a child that the Skaagosi had some strange beliefs and it seemed they worshipped little Rickon and his wolf Shaggydog. It seemed there was a tale around the boy and his wolf that they were supposed to bring about the light and end the darkness. Osha was still not completely clear on all of it, but she knew one thing, the white walkers could not get them on Skaagos, the water prevented them from coming here. There was more of course, there is always more. It seemed that the children were somehow involved with what was going on north of the wall, and that they were either the good or the bad forces in this struggle that according to the Skaagosi had been raging for thousands of years. She did not know what to make of it, and truly she did not care, she only wanted to keep Rickon safe and she had sworn she would.

Rickon was a good child, even if he were very wild. He had managed to cope somewhat with the changes that had occurred so quickly in his life. His father was dead, his sisters were scattered to the win, and Osha suspected that his brother the Young Wolf was dead as well. And yet Rickon remembered them somewhat, it was as if his wolf and the island was keeping them fresh in his memory, for he would often ask about them late at night as they went to sleep. She would tell him what little she knew of his family, often recalling the things she had observed in Winterfell when the young wolf had been there, and what the little lord had told her, but she feared it was not enough. More and more it seemed that little Rickon embraced the island lifestyle of the Skaagosi and that was something Osha knew she would have to stop before it went too far. There was one thing about the kneelers they did not like what they did not understand, and it did not take a genius to know that they did not like the Skaagosi. And that was a shame for the Skaagosi were true northmen, they had not forgotten the old way, the way Osha and her family had known and had followed before the darkness had come and driven them out.

And now as they had been told repeatedly they were sailing to the abandoned isle of Skane. The island had a grim reputation, for it was where the Skaagosi had supposedly come and wiped out the entire island of its people. She had asked Joramun about this once, and he had merely said that it might have happened or it might not have happened. All she knew was that the island had a fierce reputation and that she was not entirely comfortable allowing Rickon to come here. And yet Joramun had been insistent, stating that Rickon needed to come here if he ever wanted to reclaim the north before it became too late, and little Rickon who could be stubborn when he wanted to be had voiced his agreement, stating he wanted to reclaim his home from the bad people and to be like Robb, and so Osha had relented and here they were.

The island was grim, and foreboding, the boats rocked slightly on the water, as they came closer. Osha felt something in the pit in her stomach, something primal, some sense of fear. There was something on this island, something old and powerful. She did not know what it was and she did not know whether she trusted it, but as she looked at Rickon the boy seemed oddly calm, and had done during the entirety of the journey, and his wolf who paddled alongside the bot was calm as well. That the wolf had managed to keep going throughout the duration of their journey was impressive. But then she had to remind herself that the wolf was not a normal wolf, it was a direwolf and as such had a direwolf’s stamina and strength.

As the boats pulled into the island Osha looked at Rickon and saw that the boy looked concerned about something. “What is it my little lord?” she asks.

“Shaggy can feel something. There is someone on the island.” Rickon says.

“Well we are about to go onto the island little wolf, so of course there will be people on the island.” Osha replies.

Rickon shakes his head. “No, there’s someone or something on the island. Not just Jor and his people. There are others.”

“Others? What do you mean by others?” Osha asks trying to keep the panic from her voice.

Rickon looks at her and says. “Maybe not others I don’t know. But there is something there.” he then shakes his head and looks at Shaggy, the wolf who had been paddling suddenly bounds onto the land and runs off into the distance.

“Where is he going?” Osha asks.

“To see.” Rickon replies simply.

Osha nods, the boy might be young but he is powerful, very powerful that much is true. Their boat has stopped now, and so Osha stands and helps Rickon out of the boat onto the land. The others join them as well, and when Rickon takes her hand she says. “Remember what I said before we left little wolf.”

“I am to stay by your side until we get to the cave.” Rickon replies. “Why must I stay by your side until then Osha?”

Osha looks at Joramun who has stepped off his boat, the Magnar of Magnar is a big man, broad shouldered, with flowing red hair and a flowing red beard. He is handsome and strong. The man merely nods at her. “Because this is Skane, and I need someone here to protect me from the monsters that might be on the island.” She replies.

“But there won’t be any monsters. Shaggy will eat them if they come near us.” Rickon says confidently.

“Good, I would not like to end up in the belly of some monster.” Osha jokes softly.

The boy laughs. “You would hurt them before they ever got the chance to do anything to you wouldn’t you Osha? You would not let them take you away. Not like they took my mama and papa away.” The last is said in a very soft and scared voice.

Osha stops then and gets down on her haunches to look at the boy she looks him in the eye and says. “I will not go anywhere unless you ask of it of me little wolf. I am with you always.”

“Do you promise?” the boy asks.

Osha nods. “I promise.”

Rickon hugs her then and Osha holds him for a moment before the boy pulls away and takes her hand then forcing her to stand up. They continue walking following Joramun and his men toward where the cave is said to be. “Where’s the wolf?” Joramun asks in his gruff tone.

“He’s coming this way. Shaggy found nothing scary on the island.” Rickon says immediately.

Joramun merely nods before saying. “You will need to enter the cave on your own my King. You and your wolf will need to enter alone.”

“Osha cannot come with me?” the boy asks confused.

“No. Whatever is in that cave wants you to go in with your wolf alone. That is what we have been told. If you want to go home that is what you must do.” Joramun replies.

Rickon looks at her and Osha feels her heart ache at the hope in his eyes. “It is true my little wolf. You must go in with Shaggydog and come out. I promise you I will be right here.”

“You are not going anywhere?” Rickon asks her, his lower lip quivering slightly.

She wants to hold him and reassure him, but she knows that he would not appreciate that not now. And so she merely ruffles his hair and says. “Of course my king. I would not leave you.”

They are silent then as a big black shape comes bounding toward them. Shaggydog stops before Rickon and rubs his head against the boy’s side, causing Rickon to laugh. But then he stops playing and looks at Joramun. The Magnar looks somewhat intimidated and rightly so the wolf is nearly as big as him. “You must go in now my king.” Joramun says.

Rickon looks at her and she smiles reassuringly, and then he starts walking forward toward the cave, Shaggy following obediently at his side. Osha can feel her heart hammering as she watches her little wolf walk toward the cave. He stops outside the save and looks at her a moment and then runs in. her heart is still hammering, nothing has happened, and the wait is killing her. She wants to know what is happening inside the cave, is there anything at all, or has she just given her little wolf over for some sort of Skaagosi trick? As the silence extends she grows more and more nervous she wants to walk into the cave and pull her little wolf out of the cave, before something dangerous happens. She takes a step forward and then the ground begins to shake.

It is not a soft shake either, it is something violent the like of which she has never seen before. The sheer force of it forces them all to their knees. Her heart is hammering and she wants to run into the cave, which looks as if it might fall in on itself. As the shaking worsens and the rocks begin falling down she makes to move forward. But is stopped. “You cannot go in. not now.” Joramun says.

“He will die if we do not do something!” Osha shouts.

“He will die if we interfere, let the old man do what he must.” Joramun shouts back.

Struggling against the man’s arm, Osha strains to see what is happening, she just wants a sight of her little wolf to make sure he is okay. The ground continues to shake and groan and moan, and her heart is hammering viciously in her chest. She is worried, so deathly worried. She fears she has led her little wolf to his death. The ground stops shaking and all goes quiet, and yet a moment and then another, and then another passes and there is still no sign of Rickon. She begins to worry now, Joramun is still keeping her in place but his grip is weakening. The silence stretches on, until someone gasps and Osha looks back at the front of the cave and sees a tall figure emerge, a black wolf the size of a small war horse at his side. The figure is naked from head to foot, with long hair kissed by fire and his eyes, those eyes are a startling blueish grey. “Rickon.” She whispers. As the Skaagosi get to their knees before her little wolf, she sees he is not so little anymore, he has become a man grown.


	2. A Boy or A Man

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. Skane**

**Rickon Stark**

The cave was a strange blur of memories and visions. What was real and what was not he was not sure. He had heard voices, so many voices, a woman crying, a man praying, children laughing. All of it had come flashing before his eyes, and he did not know where it had come from. Was it coming from him? Or from something else? It was confusing and he was not entirely sure what to believe. And then the change had come, his body growing outward, his mind expanding. One moment he was a little boy, the next he was a man, with a man’s wants and needs. He had knowledge that only a man could have, and there was a voice whispering encouragement to him, a voice that said he was the one to reclaim that which had been stolen from him and his family. His family, Rickon remembered them more clearly now than he had before. He did not know how or why, but he did, and anger burned inside of him at what had become of them. They would be avenged, father, mother and Robb, they would be avenged truly avenged. None would stop him.

He stumbled out of the cave, he knew he was naked, and everything was brighter and the sounds were more present. It was somewhat overwhelming, he shaded his eyes and looked outward. From what he could see through the haze that was his sight now, it seemed there were people on their knees before him. Rickon did not know why, but he liked it. He liked the sight of them all on their knees before him. Shaggydog came bounding out with him, his wolf, his soul, his partner, they had gone through the change together. He looked for the woman who had been his mother ever since his own had left. “Osha?” he asked looking for her.

“Yes little wolf, I am here.” He heard her reply as she came to him then.

“Where are my clothes?” he asks his voice deep. Deeper than he was expecting.

“They must have torn when you were in the cave little wolf.” Osha replies.

“I need some clothes Osha. I cannot walk around without any clothes. It is not befitting a king.” Rickon grumbles.

“Of course Little Wolf,” Osha says. “Joramun. Get the king some clothes.”

Rickon sees through the haze that the Magnar of Magnar is barking commands and asking for clothes to be brought. Whilst this is being done he asks. “Why are all these people on their knees Osha?”

Osha stops and looks at him. “Did you not feel the ground shake and move whilst you were in that cave?”

Rickon looks back at her and notices her beauty, and something begins stirring in him, he quickly tries to squash it. “No. There was something happening outside here? What was it?”

“The ground moved and shook and the rock of the cave began to fall. Did you truly not feel anything little wolf?” Osha asks.

Rickon shakes his head and is amazed by the long hair that swishes as he does so. “No. I did not feel anything from outside. I only felt things from inside.”

“What did you feel little wolf?” Osha asks.

He shrugs. “I do not know. Many things, my family, the old gods, I do not know. It happened all so fast.”

The Magnar of Magnar has come back and he hands Rickon clothes without looking at him. “Your clothes my king.” The man says.

Rickon takes the clothes and thanks the man. They are simple but they fit him nicely. When he notices that the man still is not looking at him he asks. “Why do you not look at me Joramun? Is there something on my face?”

The man’s voice sounds surprised at this. “No Your Grace. It is just that to look upon one such as you, without your holy permission is a crime against the gods. And you are their vassal, you are their champion. I would not dare to commit crime against you.”

Rickon looks at Osha who merely shrugs. “Enough of that Joramun. You are one of my friends, an ally. You brought me here and I have learned a great many things. You may look upon me, and see your king.”

The man looks at him then and something like awe passes through him. “It is true. The legend was true. You have become the wolf of the night.”

Something from what he saw in the cave pushes its way forward at that. “Wolf of the night?” he asks. “What is that?”

“The one who will rescue the north from the grasps of the flayed man and the lion. And will restore order and peace to the realm. The chosen of the old gods. You, Your Grace. You are the wolf of the night.” Joramun says, and those who are kneeling repeat it.

Rickon processes this and finds that he quite likes this title. He looks at the people before him and then says. “Where is my crown? The King must have a crown.”

A boy walks forward then holding a crown almost reverently. Rickon looks at the crown and sees that it is black, a solid black band glittering in the sunlight, there are nine sword like shapes on the band silver. He takes the crown from the boy and places it on his head. “Your king has a crown. He must have his kingdom.” As he says the words, he knows they are right, and yet it feels so strange saying such things and in such a strong voice.

“The King of the North. The King of Winter. The Wolf Of The Night.” Are the cries that go round the gathering then as those on their bended knee shout and cry. He looks at them all and smiles, his mind telling him this being the right thing to do. As he looks around the gathering he sees some very attractive looking girls and women, and his body begins to stir. His mind tells him that this is natural. He is a king, he could have any one of these women and no one would say anything about it.

He looks at Osha, who he sees has been staring at him for a long time, a strange look in her eyes, and he feels heat gather in him. “Do what you must my king.”

Rickon grins at her and is delighted to see something akin to a flush cover her cheeks. He goes to move toward her and then sees something glinting near the crowd and so walks over to where it is, Shaggydog following. He goes to where the thing is, and sees that is some sort of dagger, he looks at the man holding it and asks. “What is this?”

The man briefly looks at him before looking away. His voice is soft when he replies. “Obsidian Your Grace. To kill the darkness.”

“It is the same colour as my crown. Is my crown obsidian as well?” Rickon asks.

“It is Your Grace.” Joramun says, appearing at Rickon’s side.

Rickon looks at the man and asks. “And why is that? There is power in those daggers, I can feel it. Just as I can feel the power in my crown.”

Rickon sees the man nod. “As it should be. That crown has been waiting for you, for a long time Your Grace.”

“What do you mean?” Rickon asks.

The man looks around somewhat worriedly. “We must leave the island Your Grace, there are bad things coming.”

“What things?” Rickon asks, and then a memory comes to him of things in the water and creatures with eyes as blue as the sky, and creatures with forked tongues and lying motives and he suddenly understands. “There is no need to explain.”

With that when the people realize what is going on they begin moving back to the boats, and whilst Shaggydog bounds onto the boat Rickon remembers they came on, he grabs Osha’s hand and pulls her with him. For some reason he does not wish to let her go, he definitely does not want to let her go. Not now, not after the change. He knows she is important to him, and he will keep her close. When they are on the boat, he looks at Joramun and the man asks. “How much did the gods show you my king?”

“Enough to know that Bolton and Stannis must both die for the north to be ready for the threat to come. I do not completely understand all of it, and there are things I still need to learn and comprehend.” Rickon replies.

The man nods. “Of course Your Grace. I would be surprised if that were not the case.”

A man whom Rickon sees has a thick brown beard says. “The lorgorth will want you to know their ways Ri.”

Rickon looks at the man and asks bluntly. “Who are you?”

The man puffs his chest out and says. “I have the pleasure of being Ethelred the Oxbreaker. And I am willing to teach you the ways of war my king.”

“Ethelred the Oxbreaker, I have heard of you. Your legend is known even beyond the wall. The man who killed the Rialta with his axe and his shield and drank from their skulls for twenty years.” Osha says.

Ethelred laughs. “Aye. Good to see my reputation has spread beyond the wall. Your kind needs to know where it can and cannot go. And it is my reputation that has kept the free folk away from my lands.”

Joramun laughs. “More than likely your bad breath. Otherwise you would be dead a thousand times over.”

Rickon goes to say something but Osha lays a hand on his leg, and despite the stirring inside of him he looks at her and she whispers. “Ignore it little wolf. They are men, they say what they want. I would kill them if I needed to.”

Rickon holds his tongue though Shaggy looks at both men menacingly. “It seems your wolf has sensed something my king.”

Rickon looks at Shaggy and then at the man and replies. “He smells the land. We will be back soon.”

Sure enough they arrive back on Skaagos, and there even more people are waiting for them, for him really. He takes Osha’s hand and helps her out of the boat whilst Shaggydog bounds out. The people see him and begin whispering, and then when Joramun proclaims. “A boy went to Skane and a man has come back. Our king is here before you all. Let us swear ourselves to him now and get the justice the north deserves.”

Something flutters inside of him when he sees even more people get down on their knees before him. They chant his name and some other name it seems. He does not know truly what it is, but it matches the words that came to him in the cave. His chest puffs out then and he maintains his hold on Osha’s hand, something he does for comfort and because he wants her there, he wants her to see this. He holds up a hand and the people stop. He takes a deep breath and says. “Thank you. I have much to learn before I am ready to claim what is mine. But thank you for being here, and I promise you will not be forgotten when I sit the throne of winter.”

There is more cheering at that, and the chants of “Wolf of the Night.” “Black Wolf” and “King of Winter.” Rise and rise until they reach a somewhat deafening crescendo. One that has Rickon covering his still sensitive ears. Osha moves closer to him then protectively he thinks, but also lovingly, he is not sure. Shaggydog howls then as well. A deep sound, primal and Rickon knows, he just knows that he will be the very embodiment of his words, winter is coming, and revenge will be had.


	3. Leech

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. Winterfell**

**Lord Roose Bolton**

The cold was his home, truly it was. The cold was what gave him life and sustained him through the long years, it gave him life. It made him whole, and as winter came it replenished him. His family had survived through the years of the Starks it was their time now, the Starks were gone broken and scattered. The boys were somewhere north of the wall and Roose intended to find them. He intended to break them and kill them, though perhaps not the cripple, the cripple was necessary for his plans. For the plans his ancestors had made, the plans that spanned millennia. It was coming time for these plans to be put into fruition, they had survived the southern wolves and now it was time for the flayed men to step out of the shadows and for the night to last forever.

The shaking of the earth, had confirmed for him that his ancestors were ready, that they were coming down from their wintry palaces and their burrows. That it was coming time for the darkness to descend on the world as it done once before. There would be no Stark males to prevent his rise, and that of his ancestors. There would be nothing to stop the rise of the dark and the loss of the moon. No wolf would howl at the moon anymore. Of course Ramsay would need to be dealt with, his bastard son was a problem, a problem that had cost him too much before, and would cost him more now if he were left unchecked.

He had deliberately informed Ramsay that Walda was pregnant, and the look of anger and disgust on the bastard’s face gave him great pleasure. The boy had been nothing but a nuisance from the day that Roose had seen him. Domeric had died because of the fool, and now the fool would attempt to kill the child that Walda carried. Roose hoped it was a boy, but he did not want to keep his hopes up. There had been a child with Bethany before she had died, but Roose had done as all his ancestors had done before, and given that child to the woods and the trees, his ancestors had come for her then as they had done for his own sister. There would be no females for now, but if there was a female born from Walda, Roose would keep her alive.

Stannis Baratheon was in the north and because of the bastard of Winterfell was heading toward Deepwood Motte, Roose had hoped the man would fall for the trap and head toward the Dreadfort, a place where the old magic ran true still and the ghosts of the past could slaughter the man’s army before it even came to Winterfell. And yet the bastard had advised against that, perhaps it had been a mistake letting the bastard live. There was too much at risk allowing the bastard to live, perhaps it was time for the boy to be paid a visit. Lorch could do the job, either him or Walton, either way the bastard had to die, for this plan to truly work.

There had been other news as well. Roose’s spies reported that the Mountain clans had not given their full strength to Baratheon. Instead they had given only half, protesting the need to leave some of their men behind to gather the crop and the harvest. Nonsense as far as Roose was concerned the Mountain Clans were up to something, what it was he did not know. But he suspected it had something to do with the omens that had been seen. The shaking of the earth was something that might be taken as one sign or another, depending on whom one spoke to. Roose was determined to ensure that his family’s legacy was secured. Stannis Baratheon needed to die and the Lannisters needed not to look north to ensure that.

Ironborn at Torrhen’s Square would be a problem, but that was to be expected, the Ironborn there were ones who could be talked to. Negotiated with, or if not, then they would be flayed and removed piece by piece. They were nothing but a hindrance and as such would be treated as such. There was no courtesy that could be afforded to them for any other reason, other than sending the Ironborn mute to him. That was an interesting move, and that was how he had received confirmation that the cripple was still alive. As for the wild child, he did not know, but Roose suspected he was hiding something, and he was determined to find out what it was.

Things were going to become very interesting, the girl whom the Lannisters had tried to pass off as Arya Stark, he had seen through that instantly. The girl was most likely dead, and the imposter who had been sent to play her would die as well. It was necessary for the plan to work, the blood of an innocent was required, only then would the location of the horn be revealed. The horn that would bring it all to an end, or to full circle as it were. That was what he wanted, that was what his ancestors wanted and his ancestors want, it was one and the same. It would be an interesting time, most definitely. Very interesting.

It was only to become more interesting because of what his sources had told him about the south. It seemed that the Lannisters were falling into chaos, and the Tyrells were coming to power. Something he had foreseen, the High Sparrow, an old ally of his, had informed someone he knew of where the last Stark girl was. And he intended to use that information to his benefit. The girl would be the key, the key to ensuring the darkness would never disappear. It had been a Stark girl who had ended it before, and now the girl would bring it back. This would be his crowning glory. He smiles at the thought and begins preparing.


	4. Lord Commander

**3 rd Month of 300 A.C. Castle Black**

**Lord Commander Jon Snow**

The ground had shaken, the tremor had shaken it to its very core. Stone had crumbled and the people of Castle Black had quivered in fear. It was like something Jon had never felt before. Something that was deeply concerning, he wondered if it was something to do with the white walkers, if they had perhaps caused it. But then he thought, if they could cause something like that, why did they not just bring down the wall. There were cracks in the wall from that tremor, and yet it had not fallen. It was strange, deeply strange, something felt off to Jon, what it was he was not sure, but there was most certainly something off about that whole business.

He did not have the luxury of contemplating that though. He was Lord Commander, albeit reluctantly rather than out of some sense of duty. And so had so many things to deal with. His head hurt thinking about all that he had to do in preparation for the wildlings to come beyond the wall. He knew many of his sworn brothers were against the move, but it was the only thing he could think of that would keep them all safe. Of course not all agreed with him. Bowen Marsh, the steward of the Watch was one of those people. “We barely have enough food to feed ourselves through this winter. And even then we do not know how long it will last. How can we possibly provide food for those wildlings you wish to bring across from beyond the wall? They will starve and die here. We will starve and die here.”

“There is enough food, Ser Bowen. I have checked the stores, we have enough bread and meat to last perhaps a year or two at most. This winter might last longer, it might not. Maester Aemon has given no indication that he thinks this winter will last as long as the summer.” Jon replies.

“Maester Aemon is an old man who cannot see. How is he to know whether or not the winter will be a long one? That is for the maesters at the citadel to decide. Not maester Aemon.” Marsh says.

“And yet, whenever there has been a winter Maester Aemon has been able to tell when it is coming. He knows whether there will be a long winter or not. And so far he has given no indication that there will be. There have been no signs that there will be an overly long winter either.” Jon says stubbornly

“If you say so Lord Commander. And yet I must ask why do you insist on bringing the wildlings onto our side of the wall.” The high steward asks.

“It is not our side of the wall. There are no sides. There are things out there that want us all dead. We are all men, whether we are crows or free folk. We cannot afford to continue our petty rivalries. For if we do, when the darkness comes we will all die.” Jon says.

The High Steward looks at him askance. “Darkness? How sure are you that there is anything out there Lord Commander?”

Jon looks at the man and asks incredulously. “How can you ask that? How can you ask whether or not there are white walkers out there? You have seen them! You have fought them. Those things that came after Mance and his men were not things from your imagination they were real!”

Bowen Marsh looks at him and asks. “How certain are you that these things are the threat? We have fought the wildlings for eight thousand years. There must be a reason for that.”

“We built a wall for some reason. I do not think it was because of the wildlings. They are people like you and I. The things out there, the things that want us dead, they are the things we should be worrying about. Not the wildlings.” Jon says.

“And yet why have these things only just come back now? Why have they not shown themselves before? There are no records of what these things are, and where they come from. I do not care what your friend the fat man says, there are no true records of the white walkers or their thralls, other than the stories that were written down centuries later.” Marsh says.

“Do you want the dead to come back to life? Do you want them to be knocking on our gates? Is that the only way you will believe that they are real?” Jon asks exasperated.

“I do not agree with you on this matter Lord Commander. And yet you are the Lord Commander, what you decide is something that we all have to abide by. We all pay for the consequences of our actions. Remember that my lord before dining with the free folk.” Marsh says before he bows and walks out of Jon’s solar.

Jon sits in his solar for a long time after that, one hand on Ghost’s head stroking the direwolf. He wonders not for the first time if he is making the right decision. If perhaps he has been too quick to jump this conclusion. What is there to say that the free folk will willingly accommodate themselves to the world of kneelers? Already there had been fights between the black brothers and the free folk. It was beginning to get out of hand. And yet he was not willing to allow thousands of innocents to die, he would not allow that to happen. Not after what he had seen when Mance and his army had come calling.

Shaking his head, he stands up and runs a hand through his hair and then walks out of the room. Ghost walks with him a silent companion as he walks through the courtyard, and to the library. And as he was expecting he sees Sam and Maester Aemon sat there reading through some old tomes. “Ah Jon, just who I was hoping to see.” Sam says.

“What have you found?” Jon asks.

“That depends.” Sam replies. “What do you want to know more about? Dragonglass, the white walkers or the tremor we all felt?”

Jon considers this a moment and is surprised at how difficult a decision this actually is. After much thought he says. “Tell me about the dragonglass. What more did our fellow sworn brothers write about it?”

Sam looks down at the book and says. “Well you already know that the children are said to have given the Night’s Watch certain levels of dragonglass each year in accordance with the paying of some sort of tithe. Originally I was not sure what that tithe was supposed to be, and now it seems I do.” His friend pauses and Jon looks at him curiously. “It was blood that the children demanded in exchange for the dragonglass.”

“Blood?” Jon asks surprised. “Why would they want blood?”

“I do not know. But some of the writings here speak of some sort of blood oath that needed being paid. Something the first lord Commander had sworn he would do at the end of the first long night. It was this blood that kept away the darkness.” Sam says.

“So then why did we not have to do it when we came here? Did the Old Bear not know about it?” Jon asks.

Maester Aemon speaks then. “None of us have known about this for some time Jon. If we had we would have never allowed it to continue. When it stopped I do not know, but from what Sam has told me, it seems it went on for some time.”

“How long?” Jon asks his stomach beginning to churn.

“Roughly until around the time of the dance of dragons. Something happened then that stopped the blood oath from going through. And that is when the children began to disappear. And the dragonglass with them.” Sam says.

A sudden sickening thought occurs to Jon and he asks tentatively. “You don’t think that the dragonglass was made from this blood do you?”

Sam looks queasy at the notion, but maester Aemon answers calmly as ever. “It is possible. We do not know too much about the children Jon. Their ways are forgotten to us, lost in the sands of time. But is very possible that their magic lives on. The wall might well be a testament to that.”

“Then why demand blood? They were our allies once, what changed?” Jon asks.

“I would not say they are not our allies anymore. Perhaps the power they had corrupted them. Perhaps it was part of the agreement that to us now seems strange. We will never know unless there is a child that we can speak with.” Maester Aemon replies.

A troubling thought, but one Jon does not have time to deal with. “What more did you learn from the books about the dragonglass? Is there more of it somewhere. Does it say how to make it?”

Jon feels his heart sink at the shake of the head Sam gives him. “Unfortunately, neither of those things are mentioned in the text. Though something called Dragonsteel is mentioned. I am not sure whether the brother who wrote this means Valyrian steel or not.”

“Was there Valyrian steel during the Long Night?” Jon asks. “I thought Valyria only came about after the long night, and that to some two centuries or so later.”

Sam shrugs helplessly, but maester Aemon speaks. “It is possible. Who can know for sure? So much is still uncertain Lord Commander. There is much and more we still need to learn. We need more time.”

Jon sighs. “I know. But I fear that is time we do not have. Soon enough there will be more wildlings come south of the wall, and there might be an army of the dead coming on their heels.”

“We beat them back once, we can do so once more if we have to.” Sam says.

“We did not beat back the army of the dead. They retreated of their own accord. I still do not know why.” Jon says sternly

“There is power in the wall Jon. More power than anyone of us truly knows what to do with. That is why. At least that is my own little hope. But I am only an old man, not some maegi who knows the ways of old magic.” Maester Aemon says sagely.

“Bowen Marsh does not believe that the white walkers are the true threat. He thinks I have made them up to merely meet my own ends.” Jon says.

“Truly? Even after what we all saw? He still does not believe you?” Sam asks incredulously.

“People will often believe what they want to believe. To someone like Bowen, the thought that there might be something worse than the free folk is a terrifying thought. He knows the free folk, he knows how to fight them and how to kill them. He is comfortable with them. The white walkers are not something he knows. He fears that which he does not know, and rightly so, for these things are not something to be laughed at.” Maester Aemon replies.

“Then how do I make him see that they are real. And that they are the true threat? I cannot afford to have him or anyone else operating on false premises. That will get them all, it will get us all killed.” Jon says.

Maester Aemon looks, or rather does not look at him for a long moment and then says. “Perhaps there is no true way to show him the truth. He must find it for himself. And if he finds it before his death then so be it. You cannot afford to care for each individual person Lord Commander, for they will not care for you.”

Jon looks at the maester then and asks. “What makes you say that?”

“These are dark times Lord Commander. There is nothing there for those who do not wish to see. Either they must see and live, or they must not and die. That is the only way we can survive and thrive through this.” Maester Aemon says.


	5. Training

****

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Skaagos**

**King Rickon I Stark**

His training was a long process, it required waking up early, very early and working from that time until the sun had long since set. His body did not like doing that, his body did not like waking up early. It would rather stay in bed, stay in the warmth that Osha’s body huddled next to his provided. And yet he knew he had to go and do these things. There were many things, sword practice, weapon practice, those he enjoyed he was able to channel much of his anger into those things, and then there was learning about the north. The northern lords were a divided people now and he needed to learn about whom he could trust and whom would need to be brought down. Being such an isolationist people, Rickon was surprised at just how much the Skaagosi knew about the mainland. They seemed to know more than the old maester at Winterfell had done, he could not remember the man’s name but he could remember his face. Then there was the warging, being taught how to do that by Jarl, a man who was as old as Old Nan had been. The man taught him how to do it, and how to control it, he could warg animals a plenty now and not feel as tired. But there was still a long way to go, there was still much and more he needed to learn before he could truly be ready to march out to war.

As she always did at the end of the day, Osha would wait up for him and ask him how it all went. “So tell me little wolf, what did you learn today?”

Rickon takes a bite out of a piece of meat and then says. “I learned that even though he must be very old, Jarl can still be annoying if he wants to. In fact he can be even more annoying.”

He can hear the smile in Osha’s voice and that fill him with happiness. “Be serious little wolf what did you learn today?”

Rickon takes another bite of meat and then looks at Osha and says. “I learned about the Boltons.” Shaggydog growls at this and Rickon himself tenses. “I learned about how they have always been treacherous little scum that should have been wiped out years ago. Why did my ancestors not do that?”

He is not truly expecting an answer but Osha replies anyway. “Because when they were not rebelling they were scaring the life out of other lords in the north. It is the same way beyond the wall. There was a tribe that my father used to use when he wanted the other tribes to do as he bid. From what I have heard the Boltons are like that for your family.”

“Well they will not be around for much longer. They betrayed Robb, they betrayed my family and I will not allow them to stand.” Rickon growls.

“You will need to be back on the mainland for that to happen little wolf. And from what Joramun tells me you have a little bit more to learn before that can be made possible.” Osha replies.

Rickon does not know why, but at the mention of Joramun’s name, anger coils in his stomach. “I will be ready soon enough. I know much and more about the northern lords and the ways they will act and behave. I knew enough to hold conversation and turn them to my side when I came out of that cave, this was merely so that I knew how to kill them with words should the need arise.”

Osha smirks then. “Did you now? So tell me what of the Umbers? How will you get them to your side?”

“The Umbers respect strength. I am better at fighting than everyone on this island and I will be better than them should they ask to spar. I will fight them into submission.” Rickon says.

“And what of the Manderlys, those southerners who claim to be northmen?” Osha asks.

“They prefer use of words than force. Show them a good plan and they will be falling over themselves to be of use. I know just the plan for them as well. It involves doing to the Freys what the rat cook did to an Andal son. And it is something I know Wyman Manderly will approve of.” Rickon says.

“What of the Mormonts and the Glovers?” Osha asks. “They are said to be fiercely loyal to your family. How will you win them over?”

Rickon looks at Osha then and merely grins. “Why, my mere presence on the mainland will be enough to win them over. That and Shaggydog. I will not allow the north to remain in Bolton hands. They will die for what they did to Robb and our mother. And for what they are doing to the north. And once they are dead, I will find my family and bring us back together.”

“What of Bran? Will you go beyond the wall to find him?” Osha asks.

Rickon stiffens then. He knows some of what is beyond the wall and it is not good. “I fear Bran is being used there is something more to what that Reed boy wanted with him than meets the eye. I do not feel comfortable leaving him north of the wall.”

“So will you go north of the wall then? Will you do that before you try to retake Winterfell?” Osha asks her expression filled with concern.

Rickon bites his lip slightly and then says. “I do not know. I must regain the north to make sure it is ready for when the darkness comes. But at the same time I do not know whether I want my brother with the children.”

“That is a decision you will have to make before you leave here my wolf. You cannot be in two minds over what to do when you enter the war. For that will get you killed.” Osha replies.

Rickon looks at her for a moment and then says. “I know, I know. But it is hard. He is my brother, but the north is my home.”

 

 


	6. No One

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Braavos**

**No One**

The dream was as vivid as always, clear cut, a boy who looked like a girl’s brother came out of the cave, glistening and standing tall amongst the rocks. Shimmering in the light, glowing before all and making the fierce warriors bend their knee. The man who had once been a boy was attractive, but there was something else in him. A fierceness that had been possessed of the boy since he was a child. It was this that drew no one to him, to see the fire burning inside to consume it and make it her own. And then there were the wolf dreams, of running and hunting. Of killing and dreaming anew. Of running with the mother, but the mother was dead, killed by the weasels, before her time. And yet there she was running with her. It confused no one, and made her pine for someone. But she knew she could not leave.

“A girl dreams for too long.” A voice says from somewhere far away and distant. She groans slightly. “A girl must wake up.”

“I am not a girl. I am no one.” She snaps at the voice.

The voice chuckles slightly. “A girl has breasts and a shapely figure. A girl is a girl. No one does not exist. And yet a girl responded to the word.”

“Of course I did, I was trying to get you to stop.” No one replies.

“If you were truly no one you would not reply. No one does not know anyone to reply.” The voice says.

No one snorts. “You like talking do you not? Why do you talk so much?”

“Because a girl has yet to know why a man has come to speak with her. And for a girl to know truly what her purpose is she must know why a man has come.” the voice replies.

No one grits teeth and snarls. “Stop speaking in riddles and answer clearly.”

The voice laughs once more. “A man does not speak in riddles. A man speaks clearly. A girl must learn to stop anger and to think clearly.”

“How can I think clearly if all you bloody do is speak in riddles?” No one snaps. “I am not some bloody mind sweeper. I can only do as much as I can do, and as much as I have been trained to do. Nothing more.”

The voice tuts. “A girl does not recognise that her training requires to think beyond what she knows and what she has been taught. Perhaps a girl is not ready for the gift.”

“I am bloody ready!” no one snaps. “I have done all that has been asked of me. Give me the damned gift and let me do it.”

“A girl is not ready. She still clings to the ghosts of her past. She remembers things that no one should remember.” The voice replies.

“I already told you I am not a girl!” No one shouts.

“What is your name?” the voice asks.

“I do not have a name.” no one responds.

The cane comes hard and fast and she falls to her knees. “What was that for?”

“A girl lies. A man can see it in her eyes.” The voice replies.

“How can you? I do not have the sight any more than you do. You lie.” No one replies.

The cane strikes her again. “Who is Arya Stark?”

“No one.” No one says.

The cane hits her again. “A girl lies. Arya Stark is someone. And someone knows what she is and why she came here. You cannot serve the many faced God. For a girl still holds connections that she should not have.”

“No one has connections. No one does not know what you speak of. You speak in riddles, as your blackened tongue would have me believe. You lie and speak in riddles, and taunt me. But my devotion is true. No one exists where once a girl stood.” No one replies.

The cane strikes again and again and again. The girl does not know whether or not they will be able to maintain their breath for much longer. Each strike knocks the wind from their body, leaving them gasping for air. Until they guess when the cane is going to strike and they raise their hands to catch the cane and using all their strength force it back. There is a moment’s silence and no one can hear the breathing of the man. Then the man speaks. “A girl has done well. But she took her time learning to judge the blows. One must become better at doing so.”

The cane strikes once more. This time the frequency of blows is harder and faster. The wind is knocked from their body, again and again. Her knees ache, and her arms struggle to raise themselves. She curses her week body and strives to push herself back up. It hurts, by the gods does it hurt but she does it. And just as she does so she catches the cane before it hits her. She holds it tightly and says. “No one knows now. And no one will know not to trust a man who lies.”

She can hear the smile in the man’s voice. “A girl has done well. Does a girl know how to let go of the cane?”

She let’s go of the cane, and then says. “No one knows how and why a man strikes them with the cane. But one wonders why they do not hit themselves with it, for they too lie to themselves.”

There is a shuffling sound and she prepares to be hit again, but when the cane does not strike her she wonders what is happening. She searches desperately for some indication listening with her ears and smelling with her nose. Nothing seems out of the ordinary until she finds herself hearing the changing sound. And then a voice. “Because a girl is looking at herself.”

Suddenly in a rush of sound and speed that knocks her to her knees, she sees the ground, she can see! She looks up and is shocked to see herself looking at her. Arya Stark screams.


	7. Alayne

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. The Eyrie**

**Alayne Stone**

The dreams were always the same, an island dark as night, a cave, a little boy turning into a man. Magic that was the only explanation for it, a black wolf that turned into a monstrosity. It was something she could not truly explain, not could she truly understand why she kept on seeing it over and over again, every night. She wondered what it could mean, some part of her wanted to say that it was her brothers coming to rescue her, for her brothers were dead. Well all except Jon, and why would he want to come and rescue her, she was nothing, nothing to him, she had treated him so horribly. She was worried and concerned, and she so wanted to go home, but Sansa Stark had no home, only Alayne Stone did and so she had to play a role.

Her father, or rather Alayne’s father had asked to speak with her this morning and so with worry filling her heart she looks at him and asks. “You wished to see me father?”

Petyr Baelish smiles. “Ah good Alayne, my sweet. Do sit down.” once she has sat down he looks at her once more and then says. “I know you are wondering why I have called you here, and you have no need to feel worried. There is nothing wrong. I have merely called you here to speak with you about a few things.”

“Is this about the Lords Declarant father? Because I have been paying attention to what Myranda has been saying as well as to what the servants have been saying. And I know a few things.” She replies.

Her father smiles. “What sort of things do you know sweetling?”

“I know that Yohn Royce is trying desperately to keep everything together, and that he is not sure whether or not he can trust the lords who are allied with him. He fears you. That much is what I have gained from the gossip.” She replies.

“What have I told you about listening to gossip sweetling?” her father asks.

Sansa, no Alayne, takes a moment to consider this and then replies. “Sometimes people make things up to gauge the reaction of those they are speaking to, whilst others gossip so that something they want to get out, gets out.”

“And which one do you think this is?” Lord Baelish asks.

Sansa thinks for a moment. “I believe Yohn Royce has had his servants spread this rumour around. It makes it easier for people to relax somewhat, and try to make other plots that might suit them. It also means he is looking to see what you will do in response.”

“Excellent. You are learning quickly sweetling. Now tell me, what do you think Myranda Royce’s purpose in all of this is?” Baelish asks her.

“To try and figure out where I stand in all of this. I think she knows more than she is letting on father.” Alayne says then. Trying desperately to hide the sadness she feels.

Her father does not seem to notice. “Exactly sweetling. She has been set up as a tool from which they hope to get information about me. Do not allow her too much sway in your head. She can be very persuasive if she wants to be.”

Alayne nods. “I have noticed father, she has hinted at much many times beforehand.”

Her father takes her hand then and says. “I know you so wanted another friend sweetling, but there is too great a risk in trusting the Royces with anything. They were fiercely loyal to Jon Arryn, but must needs be won over before we can hope to reveal anything. Especially with things being as they are in the north.”

Judging by the expression on her father’s face at those words, it seems that he did not intend to say that. “What is happening in the north?” she asks pressing for the advantage.

Baelish is silent a moment and then says. “Stannis Baratheon has marched for Deepwood Motte and more than likely intends to take it. He received aid from some of the northern mountain clans, and as such seems to be looking to build some of a following.”

Sansa comes to the fore then her mind whirring into action. “He will never get anyone in the north to follow him. His red woman will make them hate him.”

Baelish seems intrigued by this. “What makes you say that sweetling?”

“Because it is true. He will want the northern lords to burn their wierwood tress and that is something that they will never do. Nothing will ever make them forsake the old gods. Stannis Baratheon would be a fool to try that.” Sansa says.

“The northmen do not want Roose Bolton ruling them. Stannis presents a viable alternative.” Baelish replies.

Sansa snorts. “Bolton is a Northman though, they might not trust him the northern lords would be more willing to allow him to remain in charge than some fire worshipping heathen.”

Her father looks at her intrigued then. “How certain of this are you?”

“Very. The northern lords would rather work to break down the tyranny of Roose Bolton than allow Stannis Baratheon and his fire witch to burn down the north and all it stands for. They might side with him now but they will see how he acts. And if he does not act in their favour he will lose them.” Sansa says confidently.

“Interesting, very interesting.” Baelish muses.

“What is father?” Alayne asks, worry beginning to surge through her.

“If what you say is true, then the northmen will not support Stannis or Bolton for too long. But with there being no viable Stark heir left in the north the north will be left in chaos. A lot of chaos.” Her father replies.

“And chaos is a ladder. A ladder that one can climb.” Sansa says repeating the words the man is so fond of saying.

“Exactly my sweet, and our time to climb the ladder is emerging.” Baelish says.

 


	8. Going Home

**4 th Month of 300 A.C. Somewhere**

**King Rickon I Stark**

His training, or at least as much of what was possible was complete. That much he had been able to gauge. He knew most of the lords of the north and their banners and how they were likely to react, he knew the northern people and how they were supposedly going to react. He knew his family, or what was left of it. He knew how to fight and was good at it. Of course things could go wrong, and might well do so. There was no point in trying to second guess what the gods might do even if he was their champion, there was no need to worry, if he won he won, if he died he died. There was nothing more to it. He had a job to do and he would do it.

He knew that the others were all convinced he was going to win, and to an extent he was as well, after all he had not seen his death in that cave, and yet he could not help but wonder if perhaps they were all so desperate they were pinning their hopes on him. He might look like a man and think like one, but he was technically still a child. He did not know how to lead or how to truly fight in battle. He was terrified of failing and dying and leaving the north in Bolton’s hands. Failure, that was the one thing he failed, he did not want to fail, for to fail would mean leaving the north in the enemy’s hands and that was something he could not allow.

That was why when Davos Seaworth had come to Skaagos looking for him and for Shaggy, he had had the man captured. The man rotted in the hold on the ship. There was no time to suitably deal with him, for there were other things that needed to be done. And yet the man’s request had angered him a great deal. Bend the knee to Stannis Baratheon? The man who had had his brother killed, who had not come to father’s aid, the man was a coward. A coward who needed to be cut down. Rickon would never bend the knee to Stannis Baratheon, he would rather cut out his own tongue than do such a thing. And so he had sworn to himself had for making such an offensive offer, Davos Seaworth would pay dearly for it.

They had set sail from Skaagos with some two thousand men and women all rearing for action, for the fighting that was to come. They were to land at the bay of seals and march from there, and Rickon could not help but feel some excitement as well, he might be sailing right into a trap but at least there was something for him to do now, he had learned all the Skaagosi could teach him, but now it was time to put it into action. He would gain vengeance for all the wrongs done to his family and ensure that when he was done House Bolton was not left alive. There would be no more House Bolton when things were done.

Osha came and stood beside him, and he took her hand and held it tightly. Things were developing between them, she was no longer his mother figure, and she was something else, something different. He could not put into words what he felt for her, but he knew he felt it for her, and he hoped she felt it for him as well. Without her there, he did not know what he would do, he knew he would be lost without her there to guide him and to keep him from losing his mind from the pressure and expectation. She was the one keeping him firmly in the present, not in the past or the future. There were things they both wanted to say to one another he knew, but they would keep them for another time. Perhaps when this was all said and done.

The ship stopped then and it was put into shore, Rickon brought Osha’s hand up to his lips and kissed it once before, removing his hand from hers. He whistles and Shaggydog came bounding up, he looked at the wolf, and then sighed. It was time he supposed, time for him to fulfil his destiny, time for him to make true the promise his ancestor had made a long time ago. He mounted his horse, and waited for the doors to open, once they were and the plank was lowered he bounded down it and as soon as his horse touched the ground he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was home, not yet, not quite, but he would be soon enough.

He was silent a moment as he took in the view of the trees and the snow, a white paradise, a white paradise. This was the lands of Last Hearth, he spurred his horse on slightly and allowed the rest of the men and women to begin dismounting from their ships, and he looked around the scenery and breathed in the air. It was a relief a relief to be off the ship and on solid ground. Osha rode up next to him and looked around as well. They were both awed he supposed, he knew he certainly was, awed by what he was seeing. Truly awed, a sense of excitement filled him. He was going to be home soon enough.

Osha coughed slightly, and he looked at her and then looked to where she was looking and saw a company of men riding toward them. From what he could tell their leader was a big bear of a man, tall, muscled man, with a long flowing beard and brown hair. Rickon looked at the man and then looked at the company following him, for a moment he thought about drawing his sword but thought better of it when he saw what banners they were carrying. A giant breaking its chains, those were their banners, the men of House Umber had come, just as Rickon knew they would.


	9. Message In A Bottle

**4th Month of 300 A.C. Castle Black**

**Lord Commander Jon Snow**

It was bitterly cold today, it was always bloody cold. There were times when he would wonder why he had decided to take the black and why he had forsaken all that could have been his for this damned piece of frozen shit. He could have fought alongside Robb in the south doing his bit to avenge their father and to try and save their sisters. He could have guarded Winterfell and killed Theon Greyjoy when the traitor had tried to take Winterfell. There was so much and more he wished he could have done, and yet to voice it aloud would be tantamount to admitting the contempt he felt for his post. That was something he could not and would not do. He was the Lord Commander and he would act as such, even if it killed him.

Of course such a thing was made much harder when he looked at Torrhen Umber, the third born son of the Greatjon Umber. A man who had come through the snows to bring news and speak with Jon. He did not entirely know why the man had come and yet he had. “My lord thank you for making the journey. As unexpected as it is, I am not sure what service I can offer you, but I can certainly try my best.”

Umber was a big man, broad of shoulder, and strong. “I have come mainly to speak with you about why you are allowing wildlings to settle on the gift. This is something that against the pact that your predecessors signed with my ancestors.”

“They are not the true enemies of us and you my lord. The dead things beyond the wall are. You have seen them, I know you have my men brought back reports of aiding you in beating them. Why do you protest more aid in the fight against death?” Jon says.

“Those things were nothing but shadows. We cannot allow for them to divert us from our true purpose. There are other things we must discuss. The wildlings cannot be allowed to cross onto our lands. They have long been our enemies and allowing them onto our lands would only allow for more raids and a continuation and perhaps worsening of what has been going on for the past thousands of years.” Torrhen bellows.

They are both silent then as they hear footsteps walking past, once they are sure that there is no one outside his door, Jon whispers. “What news has come from Deepwood Motte do you know?”

Torrhen smiles. “Aye, Baratheon has taken the Motte. The Greyjoy girl was captured and now Roose Bolton sits in Winterfell shitting himself.”

Jon smiles that is a good thing. “Do you know what his plans are now? What does he intend to do now that the Motte has fallen and Stannis looks a more significant threat?”

Umber is silent a moment and then replies. “From what Whoresbane has told me in letters he intends to remain in Winterfell for the time being. He will wait for Baratheon to come to him.”

“He will not try to engage Baratheon?” Jon asks his voice barely above a whisper.

“I do not think so. Bolton and his son will play a waiting game, to see which one of them or Baratheon cracks first. It also seems that Bolton might well try negotiating with the Ironborn at Torrhen’s Square.” Umber says.

Jon feels something akin to anger boil inside of him. “The traitor, has he no honour? What does he intend to do at Torrhen’s Square?  The Ironborn there will never agree to work with Bolton unless he gives them Asha Greyjoy. And as he does not have Asha Greyjoy they will never concede to work with him.” It is then the thought comes to him. “Unless of course he means to make Stannis come to the square. Stannis will no doubt try to attack Winterfell first, and then when he fails he will head back. He will need to gain more support and in doing so might look toward the square. It is then Bolton will send men to aid the Ironborn.”

Umber nods. “Aye that is what I was thinking. It seems the man might well look to weaken all his enemies here. Some think he means to wear the Winter Crown himself, for the Lannisters are falling into turmoil and they do not have a clear leader. Their eyes are not on the north, but rather the south. Bolton has the strength to look toward crowning himself.”

“I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. Bolton will never sit where my father sat, where Robb sat. I cannot allow that, my vows be damned.” Jon snarls.

“They will name you a traitor and some of the lords might well follow Bolton’s lead in accusing you of being a deserter. A deserter who is also a Stark bastard, there will be some who would willingly want to lynch you my lord. That is too great a risk, a risk I am not willing to take.” Umber replies.

“I will not allow Bolton to profane my family’s home with his treachery. He has defiled enough of what has been considered sacred already. He tried to convince the north that he had wed my sister to his bastard son and now he tries to convince them all that I am a threat? Perhaps I should be one then.” Jon snarls.

Torrhen looks somewhat surprised of the anger in his voice, but then Jon does not care, he has had enough. Truly enough. “There might not be need for that my lord. There is no need for you to go and risk yourself needlessly.”

“There are no more male Starks alive, my sisters are either dead or fled. I must fight to ensure my family does not die.” Jon snarls.

“The Starks are not dead my lord. There is one left alive, one who sits in Last Hearth.” Torrhen says.

Jon stands then and growls. “Who?”

Umber smiles and says. “Your youngest brother, Rickon.”

* * *

 

**Bowen Marsh**

It was not right, what the Lord Commander was doing. The Wildlings were their enemies, they always had been. That was what was right, the wildlings were their enemies and they were the enemies of the wildlings. Trying to work with them was not the normal order of things, it was an abomination allowing wildlings to sit and eat where once black brothers had done so. It was against all Bowen believed in and yet the Lord Commander did not see it that way. He argued the dead things over the wall were more important than the wildlings, wildlings who were plotting crimes most heinous. It was why Bowen had organised this meeting with several other members of the watch to speak and to vent.

“The Lord Commander and Umber were arguing today.” Oryck one of the old guard says. “It seems they were arguing over the wildlings settling in the gift. The Lord Commander was arguing most stringently for it, whilst Umber was stating just how bad an idea it was.”

“And I presume the Lord Commander merely dismissed what it was Umber was saying?” Bowen asks.

“Yes, he did not seem too keen on actually having a true discussion on the matter. Just as he is with us, he was with Umber. The man shows no sense of propriety or decency. He will bring about the end of us all.” Oryck says.

“The Lord Commander was changed by his time with the wildlings.” Bowen says. “That girl he took as his lover made his mind twisted and warped. No doubt he believes what he is doing is right. But what he is doing goes against all we stand for. Everything we stand for is being brought into question, the new recruits do not know whether we have lost our way or not.”

“The Lord Commander must be made to see reason. Anything else is not right. He has strayed too far already, bringing him back down to the right path is the best we can hope for.” Oryck says. “Anything else and we would be pushing the natural limit. And that is something I will not feel comfortable with.”

“Comfort? Comfort? If you wanted comfort you should not have come to the damned wall!” Allister Thorne says. “This is not about comfort this is about standing up for what is right and what is not. We must make the commander see sense. Even the Old Bear would not have allowed the wildlings to come south in such great numbers. Unless of course he meant to slaughter them. This boy must be made to see sense that is what it is.”

“To what end though? Arguing with him brings nothing about, there is only one course of action he understands and that is fighting. We cannot fight amongst ourselves though, for the wildlings would take advantage of that and run amok of us. We must find some other middle ground to see that the Lord Commander sees reason.” Bowen argues.

“We must make him realize that the wildlings are not the paragons of virtue he believes them to be. No doubt he is fucking one of them. That is why his eyes are blinded to the realities of the threat they pose.” Thorne says.

“What do you suggest we do then?” Bowen asks. “Anything that amounts to attacking them will make it so that we are the ones being brought into disrepute nothing else. I highly doubt the Lord Commander would do as his predecessors had done and make common cause with us against them. After all he is practically one of them.”

“We must make it so that the wildlings feel compelled to act of their own volition. Anything else and we shall all be brought down low. That is not something I wish to experience, nor is it something that would bode well for the rest of our sworn brothers.” Thorne says.

“The wildlings are a quarrelsome people. They will no doubt find something with which they will protest over. Something that will no doubt even irk the Lord Commander. They are not the people he thinks they are, and he must see that sooner or later. Otherwise we shall all die.” Bowen says.

“What about the others? What about the darkness and death he claims is coming this way?” Oryck asks.

“Mere fantasy. There is nothing more to it. The others have not crossed the wall in thousands of years they will not do so again. The Wildlings are merely using them as an excuse to try and do what they could not do by force. And our Lord Commander is a mere fool for accepting it.” Thorne says.

“Then what do we do? The Lord Commander seems to think the others are coming on us like the winter. It is time we made sure that the Lord Commander remembers that we were the ones who made him, and that we can unmake him as well.” Bowen says.

“Then we must begin planning now. We do not have too long. Umber shall be gone within the end of the week. Whatever plans we make we must do it now. And we must act on them very quickly. We cannot allow for Umber to leave without there being some sort of agreement between us.” Thorne says.

“The question then remains what do we do? Whom do we turn to and whom do we trust. Not all will side with us, the bastard’s allies in the fat maester and the bull and the girl will want to remain by his side. We must separate them.” Bowen muses.

“The fat maester can be dealt with. He eats far too much for the rest of the men to be truly happy with him. We can simply play on that and the fact that the old maester is beginning to age. Castle Black needs a new maester that is the plain and simple fact. As for the others, I do not know.” Thorne says.

“We have two days to think and plan. And then we must act.” Bowen says.

 


	10. Vice

**5 th Month of 300 A.C. **

**Jon Snow**

They came at him when he was least expecting it, their hands grasping swords, and daggers and it seemed whatever they could find. Something was on their lips, he could not quite make out, but it seemed they were insistent. They kept coming, and coming and Jon eventually had to draw Longclaw to fight them off, he swung his sword as many times as he could but they would dart back and more would come to take their place. He was tired, it had been a long day and night. The fires were burning and still they came, swinging their weapons of choice hacking along at his defences.

The thing was it was not just him they were attacking it was his friends as well, it was Grenn, it was Pyp they even dragged Sam and Gilly out of their rooms and began swatting at them. This made Jon and many others around them angry and so the fighting broke out. Slashing and cutting, Jon brought down two of the men and then made his way onto a third, his body was aching from the day’s activities, but he was going strong now, they had brought about the first move and he would finish them for that. He suspected he knew what the cause of their deceit was what their betrayal had come from, the free folk were lining up to fight as well. It was chaos and commotion there was no other word to describe it.

His blade was wet with blood and snow, the ground was covered in it. The brothers of the wall were angry and the wall itself seemed to be angry as well. This subterfuge had pushed it to its limits and it wept tears of ice and cracks began to appear. Destruction was the only purpose, and it seemed that this, this was the final nail. His mind was scattered but his body took over, instinct took over. He swung his sword and did all he could to keep their blades from hitting him, sometimes he succeeded other times he did not. There were cuts and scars there, to remind him of that, and still more came to fight him.

Ghost prowling through the ground, snarling and biting, growling and taking those men that Jon could not find or fight at that moment in time. He was stuck between many different places, seeing different things, but on he fought. It was in their nature, determined to end the cycle of freezing on this wall, the excuse that he had been looking for had been given to him now, he knew that perhaps that might mean death, his brother was alive, and Rickon was the true king, that might mean his own death, but he had to try. He would not sit on the wall whilst his brother fought a war, not again. Never again would he allow his damned vows to get in the way of family, family was more important than some bloody vow said in front of a heart tree. The gods, if they existed were cruel and contemptuous of man.

His body ached and yet men continued to come and fight him. It seemed they were intent on killing him, though from the way their bodies moved Jon managed to gauge that this had not been their original intention. Something had changed, between this planned being conceived and it being put into action. Something had changed and now they were all going to feel the effects of it. His body was aching, his mind was tired, Ghost was the only thing keeping him going, and that was where he was getting his strength from. He would not die, he could not die, and Rickon needed him. He needed to get home, he needed to ensure that his brother was safe and secure.

His sword continued to work on its own, slashing through the men who came toward him. Some died some survived, others merely managed to die, and he was not truly paying attention. Not anymore, all he could think of was Winterfell and Rickon, and Robb and father and Arya, the people he had let down by remaining on this damned wall. Anger coursed through his veins, he was determined not to let such a thing to happen once more. He would destroy those who had wronged their family and he would make it so that they knew never to cross the Starks ever again.

Bodies convulsed around him and the ground shook, his mind did not know the clear end from the dark end. He wanted to rest, so badly did he want to rest, and yet his body would not allow him to. He swung his sword and blood began to cover Longclaw, blood and snow, and ice. The walkers were coming once more, he could feel it in the air. He could sense it, it angered him and it frightened him. There was something deeply wrong about all of this, there was nothing right about it. Somewhere a figure groaned and Jon looked down to see more bodies piling at his feet, he had become death. Something was changing inside of him, and he did not know whether he liked it or not. Whatever it was, it seemed that it was guiding him, preventing him from giving into the feeling of sleep that he so desperately wanted.

The next thing he knew he was mounting a horse and riding off, the sounds and scenes of battle still prevalent in his ears. Others were riding with him, and he knew that he needed to say something. They could not just leave things as they were, and yet there was a part of him that did not care. He was wounded and bleeding and the watch had abandoned him. He would not going back to that wall, he was not going to commit to a cause that was clearly dying, and there was something more important waiting for him.

\-------------

**Last Hearth**

**King Rickon I Stark**

Last Hearth was an interesting castle. It was big and broad, like the Umbers that inhabited it. There was a certain grandeur to it, a sort of masculine grandeur to it that made Rickon appreciate it all the more. It was a true northern castle, and of course it would be considering it was the furthest northern castle that was part of his kingdom. That was something he intended to change, with the darkness that was to come, he would not allow the watch to inhabit and waste so much land. Land that would be necessary with death coming. And then there was the fact that somehow the Umbers had been convinced of who he was, though he knew they still harboured some doubt. Whatever it was that had convinced them, he was not willing to chance it.

Hoarfrost Umber the new heir of Last Hearth spoke his voice deep. “There have been many reports coming in Your Grace. It seems that Roose Bolton is more than content to sit in Winterfell whilst the winter does for Stannis Baratheon.”

“Where is Baratheon now?” Rickon asks.

“He is currently sat in Deepwood Motte, having dealt the crushing blow to the Greyjoy forces there. Asha Greyjoy is his prisoner, and as such he has a chance to negotiate with the Ironborn at Torrhen’s Square.” Umber replies slowly, and Rickon knows he is doing that as a way to try and assess just how much understanding Rickon has.

Pushing down on the slight irritation he feels Rickon says. “So he hopes to use Dagmar Cleftjaw’s familial connection with the Greyjoy girl to get him to surrender the square does he? In an attempt to show he is not as ruthless as everyone believes him to be. How successful will he be?”

“Not very Your Grace. Stannis Baratheon might have won the gratitude of the Glovers and their bannermen, but his fire priestess is someone who has this power over him. It has been commented on by the spies we have. They note that there is something strange about the woman. She has a hold over Baratheon and that has brought fears that she might try and encourage him to burn the godswood of the north. And that fear itself will not allow the northmen to support him.” Umber replies.

Rickon considers this a moment and then says. “Baratheon is not a man to bend easily is he? He is not a man to give away much of what he is thinking.”

“Indeed he is not Your Grace. From what our sources say, the man tends to keep himself to himself. Barely speaking with his men willing to delegate authority on minimal matters. When battle comes he might either go toward the square or Winterfell.” Umber replies.

Rickon looks down at the map of the north before him, he looks at Winterfell and the Square, and decides there and then what his move shall be. “Your uncle Mors is with Stannis’s host is he not?”

“He is Your Grace.” Hoarfrost says.

“Send word to him that he should encourage Stannis to go to Winterfell. There is no point in him going to the square, if he wants to truly earn the support of the northmen taking the castle back from the Boltons will do him lots of favour.” Rickon says. “Of course Stannis will never take Winterfell, the castle is strong enough to withstand an assault from more men then Stannis could ever hope of getting. Unless one knew the way to enter it.”

He looks at Hoarfrost and smirks when he sees the surprised look on the man’s face. “A smart plan Your Grace, but what evidence is there that Baratheon will go for Winterfell and not the square. The square is the smarter option after all.”

Rickon remains silent a moment and then drawing on knowledge that the old gods gave him during his time in that bloody cave says. “Stannis Baratheon might know that the square is the smarter option, and yet he is desperate to win the same approval his brother Robert did. Robert would have gone for Winterfell, not for the square. It is the bolder option and spurred on by his red whore, Baratheon will go for the bolder option. For the blood of kings runs strong there.”

Hoarfrost shivers slightly then. “And what of our own plans Your Grace, where will be when Stannis Baratheon attacks Winterfell?”

Rickon considers for a moment and then says. “We shall remain at Last Hearth. There is no need to exhaust our resources just yet. Baratheon and Bolton will fight and one will retreat and the other will be in Winterfell, weakened and their men broken of heart. That is when we make our move. We shall be the third army when Baratheon comes calling back.”

“Is that wise Your Grace?” Hoarfrost asks doubt showing in his voice. “After all there is no guarantee that Baratheon will fail at Winterfell or that there will even be a second battle. For all we know Bolton could kill Baratheon and the resistance could crumble there and then. As of now, the resistance does not completely know of your presence here Your Grace, some are holding out hope on Baratheon, and his mind Seaworth finding you. Should he falter all of us will.”

Rickon feels anger well up inside of him then, Shaggy begins to growl. “We shall not falter. That blithering southern fool will not be the deciding factor in this battle. I will be, and as I am not going to be committing my troops right now there will be no outright winner. The resistance movement shall not crumble because Baratheon is dead, even now Manderly is doing his part to ensure word gets around. We must have patience.”

He can tell Hoarfrost is getting ready to argue, he can sense it in the way he holds himself, and Rickon is himself readying for a response. But before either of them can form the words they want to express there is a knock on the door and the maester of Last Hearth, a timid old man enters saying. “Forgive me my king, my lord, but there are men outside the walls demanding to be let in.”

“Where from and who are they?” Rickon asks immediately.

“They claim to be from Castle Black, and their leader claims to be one Jon Snow.” The maester replies.


	11. Kings and Queens

**5th Month of 300 A.C. Last Hearth**

**King Rickon I Stark**

His heart was hammering in his chest as he watched Jon ride through the gates, there were memories there of a man who looked like their father playing with him, and a white direwolf running alongside Shaggy. The white direwolf was there as was the man, his face was scarred, his hands were shaking but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Rickon’s heart was hammering as the horses came to a stop. He looked at his brother, hoping against hope that he would recognise him, the words that came from Jon’s mouth filled him with pride and hurt at the same time.

“Robb?” his brother asks, sounding as if he has just seen a ghost, looking the part as well.

“No, I am your brother Rickon.” Rickon replies.

His brother looks at him with some surprise. “That is not possible, Rickon is a little boy.”

“The proof of what I say stands right before you. Shaggy.” Rickon says and his direwolf comes bounding to him and begins sniffing Ghost.

A look passes across his brother’s face then and he knows he is feeling the same thing Rickon himself is feeling. Relief and grief. “How?” is the question Jon asks.

“The magic of the old gods. I do not know what they did, but I went into a cave a boy, and came out a man.” Rickon replies simply.

Rickon suspects that if it were not for the direwolves and their recognition of one another, his brother would be accusing him of all sorts of crimes. There is some doubt in his brother’s face and it comes across when he asks. “Where did you go? Why did you not come north like Summer did? Is Bran alive?”

“We did not go north, because it would have been far too risky to do so. Osha, herself knew that Ramsay Bolton would find us that way. And so we went to Skaagos.” Rickon says simply.

“Osha? Who is Osha? And you went to Skaagos?” his brother asks incredulously.

Rickon grins and holds out his arms. “Where do you think I got my army from? The Skaagosi have been most kind to me and Shaggy. And Osha is someone who has become very dear to me.”

At that Osha comes forward and nods at Jon. “I have heard many things about your from the little lords. It is good to finally put a name to a face.”

Osha’s direct manner does not seem to put Jon off, and that surprises Rickon somewhat. But there are other things he wants to know. “Why are you here brother? I am glad to see you, but I thought you had a wall to guard?”

A solemn look crosses his brother’s face then. “I was betrayed. Some of my fellow sworn brothers decided that they did not like my methods. There was an attempt on my life and now here I am.”

Rickon feels anger well inside of him. “Who were the cravens who would attack you? You who is trying to do the realm some good? Give me their names and I will bring you their heads.”

His brother looks completely taken aback by the viciousness in his tone, Rickon supposes this must be quite a lot for his brother to take in, yet he seems to be doing reasonably well. Ghost must be the one to thank for that. Jon blinks slightly and then says. “There is no need, I am here to help you if you will have me.”

“Of course I will have you. You are my brother, and that Watch will fall to chaos sooner or later. I intend to deal with that problem soon enough. There are more important factors that must needs be discussed. Tell me how much has Torrhen been telling you?” Rickon responds.

A look of complete surprise passes through his brother’s face then. “Torrhen is your man?”

“Of course. You did not think he just happened to appear at the wall? No I sent him there on purpose. There was a reason for that. And it was so that you might know I was here. I have missed my family, ever since Bran went off with the Reeds.” Rickon says.

“Why did Bran go north of the wall?” his brother asks.

“Because the Reed boy believed that he needed to. Something about a three eyed crow. I did not completely understand it then, and even now I do not. There is more to it than meets the eye, and yet nothing makes sense. All I know is that we cannot allow Bran to remain there for too long.” Rickon says simply.

His brother still looks somewhat shocked at his appearance. “I do not know whether my eyes deceive me or if this is some sick trick. But I am overjoyed that you are here. Alive and well, for so long I thought you dead.”

Rickon grins once more. “I have cheated death brother, and made it my slave. I will not walk away from this fight. Not until our family is back together and those that wronged us are dead in the ground. Winterfell will be ours.”

A hard look comes across his brother then. “If you will have me, I will do what I can to aid you in restoring our family’s home to its rightful place. There is not a chance that I shall allow Roose Bolton to hold onto it.”

Rickon smiles. “I had hoped you would say that. Come with me brother, we have much to talk about. We must drink and feast. For now two of the pack are reunited.” With that Rickon embraces his brother and leads him to the great hall of Last Hearth, Shaggy and Ghost bounding before them, somewhere at the back of his mind, Rickon knows he will need to speak with his brother about the children and Bran, but for now he is content. His brother is back with him, and this time he will not leave, not for anything.

* * *

 

**The Gates of the Moon**

**Lady Alayne Stone**

The Gates of the Moon were not as grand as the Eyrie, but they were a damned sight warmer. There was less pressure on her here as well, less time was needed for her to spend with Sweetrobin, and if she was being honest with herself Alayne was deeply relieved. Sweetrobin was becoming more and more of a chore, it seemed that if he were to die, he was determined to make sure he caused everyone all kinds of pain, and that included her. She was so glad he was now sleeping and that father had told her, it would make it easier for her to do the things that needed to be done if she did not spend so much time with him. It was this that made her look at Randa, and for a brief moment, Sansa came out, and she was a girl again.

“Harry will be coming to the Gates soon. Will you try and charm him?” Alayne asks.

Randa snorts. “Harry? Oh my dear, why should I? We all know he will go for you. Beautiful as you are, who could refuse you? No I shall try my hand for a different suitor.”

This piques Alayne and Sansa’s interest. “Oh? And who is the lucky man? Is it Ser Shadrich per chance?” she giggles at the expression that crosses her friend’s face.

“That man? Gods no. I had him once, and that was more than enough. All he talked about was money and finding some supposed princess.” Her friend pauses then and Alayne feels a fear grow in her belly. Randa smirks then. “But no, I will be choosing someone else. My father wants me to go for Marwyn Belmore, to ensure the Belmores remain onside, but I personally fancy myself Lucas Corbray.”

That surprises Alayne. “A Corbray? Truly? But I did not think you liked their family? Why would you go for someone such as him?”

“He is handsome, and a gallant knight. Better by far than his brothers. He is someone a maiden can swoon over, and even someone like me can swoon over him.” Randa replies.

Alayne sighs then. “I wish you all the happiness in the world then Randa. I will be sad to see you go.”

“Where will I be going Alayne? You will be remaining in the Vale will you not? After all, once you marry Harry you will become Lady of House Hardying, and wife to the future Lord of the Vale. A position many will envy.” Randa says.

“Randa, you cannot say such things, the betrothal has not even been announced yet. He could still say no. Gods know many others want him to.” Alayne says.

Her friend clucks disapprovingly. “Enough Alayne, you are a beauty, and your father is the Lord Protector, there is no one who would say no to you. After all our Lord Robert is dying everyone knows it, even if they don’t want to admit it. Harry will be heir and you will be his lady. And then wolves will begin to dance.”

Something in her gut clenches then. “What do you mean? I am a mockingbird Randa, not a wolf. There are no wolves left.”

Randa snorts. “Come now my lady, do you truly think me blind? I know who you are, as do you. You do not have to continue this act.”

Dread coils in Alayne’s stomach then. “I…I do not know what you mean my lady. I am Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish. I do not know of any wolves.”

Her friend snorts. “You disappoint me Alayne, or should I say Sansa? I would have thought you did not think me such a fool, after having known me for so long. The whole bloody kingdom knows Petyr Baelish was far too in love with your mother to have ever fathered a bastard. He would have taken you though, to try and do something he could not do to your mother.”

Memories of Petyr’s touch come to her then and she shivers. Trying to shove down the anxiety and the desire to be sick she asks. “How did you find out?”

“You gave too much of a reaction when I spoke of Jon Snow, the new Lord Commander of the Watch. That was when I began to suspect something was amiss. It did not take long to put the pieces together after that.” Randa says.

“Do you hate me?” Alayne asks.

“Hate you? Whatever for?” Randa asks.

“For lying, it is a crime to lie. And by associating with me, you have put yourself in great danger.” Alayne replies.

Randa snorts. “Sansa, my dear, truly, there is nothing to fear. My father and my uncle know exactly what they are doing. Petyr Baelish will not know what has hit him, and you will be free to return home or marry Harrold if you so wish. There is nothing more for you here.”

“What about Sweetrobin? He is being poisoned. Littlefinger is poisoning him, I cannot just allow him to die.” Alayne protests.

“My father and uncle are dealing with that. Coleman has long been a Valeman, not someone you can buy off easily. Baelish is a fool to think that such a thing could be earned with money and not service. But then again, what would he know of such things, lowborn as he is?” Randa muses.

“He knows things though, he always finds out things that might not be meant to be found. I do not know how he does it, but he does. Something is going on here at a deeper level and I do not know what it is, or how to use it.” Alayne replies.

Randa pats her hand then. “You do not need to know how to use it. Allow it to flow through you my dear, and you will have what it is you desire. That is all that one can do. For now, bear through the pain and know that all is not lost.”

Alayne nods, but out the corner of her eye she can see a mouse skulking and she knows, that there are somethings one should not say aloud, internally Sansa screams and Alayne sighs, for what is to come will break her heart.

* * *

 

**Stannis Baratheon**

He had always known that to get the north he would need to take Winterfell. Others had counselled taking Torrhen’s Square, and whilst there would be nobleness in the deed, it was impractical and too out of the way. Winterfell, was where they needed to go and it was where Melisandre had said they would win, and so he had trusted her and taken his men there. They had come across snows and storms, and men had died, but they still pushed on, determined to see through the storm toward Winterfell. Men had left, the mountain clans had disappeared where he did not know but they had stumbled blindly through the snow.

The enemy had found them, surprised them and now the blood bath had begun. His sword arm ached, but still they pushed on. Swinging and slashing. Cutting, ducking, crying and roaring. There was no time to play his usual role and fight from the back, now was the time to fight as Robert would have fought, from the front. His arms ached, his chest ached, it was all aching and yet there was some relief in this. If he were to die he would die with a sword in his hand, not cowering in the snow like some little child. The fight continued, and he killed another man.

The men are fighting, and he is fighting, and they are gaining ground but through the snow and the blizzards, they lose ground as well. The treachery of the northmen has hurt, he does not know where the red woman is, how he has come to depend on her, it angers him, it wounds his pride, but there is some power there, to her ways, and he would be a fool not to use them. It is of her that he thinks as he goes into the brink and fights once more, swinging and roaring a war cry, something he heard Robert yell once he thinks, the memories all become blurred as times goes on, but that remains. That feeling of wanting to be like his older brother, it has always haunted him, decided his every step and movement since he was a boy. Today perhaps he will be worthy of the Baratheon name, perhaps he will win and make the traitors pay for their crimes.

Renly, his youngest brother has been with him a lot recently, plaguing his dreams, taunting him when he sleeps. He opens his eyes and feels a gnawing pain in his gut. What happened was necessary, but there is no excuse for the crime. His life has become a whirl of contradictions since that day, night really, he slept as his brother died, and later he fucked Melisandre so his grief would not show. He is a monster, but is he truly so different to all those who would claim the throne? He does not know, but perhaps somewhere along the way he lost something else, something more important.

Shireen is dying, she is ill, very ill. Coming north with her was a bad idea, a very bad idea, he does not know why he agreed to it. But then it is better she be here than on Dragonstone, where the whore of Lannister would use her for god knows what end. His daughter, the one thing he has ever truly loved, she is going, dying for his crimes, the gods, the gods he does not believe in are cruel, so very cruel to do that to her. Why should she pay for something he has done? He does not understand, he has never understood. He would rather die now, than see his daughter die.

A knock to the head brings him to his senses, his men are fighting and he is falling into a pit of despair. He shakes his head and swings his sword, trying desperately not to lose his balance, trying to keep going through the turmoil, through all the pain and agony. His body aches, his blood stains the ground, it might be for nothing, he cannot see Winterfell, would not be able to see it if he even knew what to look for. The mountain clans betrayed him, and they betrayed themselves, the fools. He will die and Bolton will continue. Something inside of him is screaming, and another part has long accepted this fate.

Blood and gore that has been his lot in life, always to live in his brother’s shadow. Desperate to achieve something more, but always failing, that was his way. He knew when he was but a boy, and that was all he could see. A chance to grab something of what Robert and later Renly left, it was that that made him determined to do this on his own. But then Melisandre came and hope renewed, a feeling he had not had since his father was alive. His sword strikes a foe, and the foe falls but another comes to take his place, something is going on here. There is a push but where it comes from he does not know.

Stannis feels as if his campaign has come to an end. He will die now and Shireen will be captured, Davos has not returned and Stannis would not be surprised if Manderly had killed him. Did honour die with Eddard Stark that is what he wonders? But then what would he know of honour? Honour never served anyone the Starks have found that to their cost, there is only duty. Duty is what keeps him going, it is what stops him from falling to his knees and giving up. He has a duty to the realm, Tommen cannot sit the throne, and if he sits the throne there will be nothing but chaos. Chaos, there has been enough of that, his brother’s reign was one of chaos.

His legs ache, his armour is heavy and still he continues. Stannis is stubborn, he has always been stubborn, he will not falter, and he will not break, not now, not when there is so much at stake. He will do this the hard way as he has done everything else in his life. One foot in front of the other he advances, he and his men, onward toward death, screaming for it to come, Winterfell might not be freed, but by the gods Bolton will lose.


	12. Once A Crow

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. Last Hearth**

**Jon Snow**

It was strange, truth be told, he kept looking at his little brother expecting to see Robb, or hear Robb speak, and yet when his little brother, his king really, spoke it was a man’s voice he heard alright. The voice of a king who knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get there. Rickon knew a lot, but in some ways it seemed there was still a child inside of him, he would sometimes sulk, not openly but privately if he did not get his way, and in some sense that was a relief to Jon for it meant his brother had not lost everything. Of course there were other times, like right now, where such a thing could be tiresome. They had been discussing what to do about the wall and Winterfell for hours, openly and privately, and now Jon was beginning to lose patience.

“Your Grace, Winterfell is the place where one needs to go. We cannot afford to allow for Roose Bolton to develop any more solidly than he already has. The battle at Winterfell, or rather outside Winterfell has made many think he is the old gods chosen.” Jon argues.

That makes his brother’s lip curl into a snarl. “Nonsense, Bolton is as hated as ever, this victory has come against Baratheon, that he did not use his red whore is a sign that Baratheon is as stupid as he is proud. We still hold support, I know we do. But the Night’s Watch is the more pressing matter.”

“But why is the wall a concern? Surely Your Grace is more concerned about winning back your seat than that of the wall? A place where criminals and rapers roam free, and honour has died a million deaths.” Jon probes.

His brother, his king snorts. “Winterfell is not going anywhere, I must show my men that I know what I am doing. There are still doubts about who I am, I must prove I am a Stark of Winterfell, and what better way than sorting out the Watch.”

Jon looks at his brother. “How much of this is about proving yourself to the northmen and sorting out the watch because of what they did to me Your Grace?”

Rickon as a babe would have stood defiant, and so he does now. “It is not just about that, what they did was wrong, it was treason. They chose you as their Lord Commander and then revolted against you. They must suffer for that, they must be taught a lesson, but there are other things that require me to go to the wall.”

“And what are those things Your Grace?” Jon asks genuinely intrigued. “What is so pressing that you would turn your attention northward, and not southward, toward our home?”

“I know of the threat that is coming to our lands Jon. I am not blind to the reality, I believe you when you say death walks amongst us. I saw things in the cave that would terrify anyone, be they boy or man grown. I will not sit by and allow the watch to tear itself apart, and allow death to come calling.” His brother says firmly.

Jon looks at his brother and asks. “What do you intend to do with the Watch Your Grace? They will never accept me as their Lord Commander now, I fled, and deserted in their eyes. I allowed the free folk to cross, something most would be killed for.”

His brother waves a hand dismissively. “You are their Lord Commander whether they like it or not. They chose you, and unless they are willing to hold yet another election, you remain their commander. But that is beside the point, when I ride north, and when I return, the watch shall not remain as it is.”

Jon’s ears perk at this. “What do you mean Your Grace?” a sense of dread over what his brother is about to say next fills him then.

“The Watch has shown that it is a broken system, there is no place for broken systems in my kingdom. For too long has Winterfell allowed the Watch to exist as it has, those lands once belonged to our family and they shall do so once more. The Watch shall not remain as it is, it shall become a Lordship.” The king says.

Jon sighs. “What makes you think it can be done? How can you remove eight thousand years of history, and expect the people who have been a part of that history to merely accept it? There will be a lot of resistance and there will be more fighting. Can you truly afford such a thing Your Grace?”

“It is not the case of whether they accept it or not. They will have to, for there is nothing else I can foresee for them. I will not allow them to continue as they have. Independent of all else, it is time they were brought to heal. The north has a vested interest in that damned place, and I intend to make full use of It.” his brother replies.

“And who would you name as Lord of the Wall? Or even of that entire stretch of land? Who in your opinion would suit the task Your Grace? It is quite an ask to make of someone. There will be much and more that will need to be done.” Jon says.

His brother looks at him a moment and then grins. “You of course brother, you are the one who is most adept for such a task. You are one of the few people whom I know I can trust implicitly, you are family, and you will not allow the wall to fall into the state it is today. We must have men of honour and duty on that wall, not men of corruption and evil.”

Jon looks at his brother then and groans. He had feared this, and judging by the look on his brother’s face there will be no changing his mind.

* * *

 

**Castle Black**

**Bowen Marsh**

Perhaps it had been wrong to go after the bastard commander like that, but at the time it had seemed like the right thing to do. It was the thing that was for the watch, and though it had caused there to be fighting, the fewer wildlings there were around the better, at least that was what Bowen thought. Clearly the number of brothers who fought alongside the wildlings had been corrupted by the bastard commander. That was angering, and Bowen intended to cull that number soon enough. The fighting was bitter and the snow made it hard to truly cover enough ground, the footing was rough, and Bowen often had to dig deep to find the strength to push through the winds and the blizzard.

His sword was a heavy weight in his hands, he swung and swung, and more of the damned bastards came through the storm and the wind, it was maddening. It seemed they had multiplied, more and more of them were appearing day by day, the need to kill them was strong, very, very strong. The fight continued and Bowen felt his strength grow, he pushed through and swung his sword, hacking and cutting, and where that did not suffice he would stamp and crush. None of those damned fools were getting through him, not after so long, he would not allow the watch to fall.

The wind blows more snow toward him making it hard to see, he feels a cut and looks down to see blood, groaning and roaring at the same time, he swings blindly and laughs at the groan of pain that comes from the victim. He pushes forward swinging his sword blindly, men and women and perhaps even children fall to his sword, they might die, they might not, he does not truly care, all he knows is that this fight must end before the snows pick up, for there is a chill in the air and something is coming. He does not know what, but something most definitely is coming, and it terrifies him.

He has not been so scared since he went to fight in the swamp wars with the Reeds all those years ago, and then he knew that at least if he died he would not come back as undead. Now there is no guarantee, and for all his formal protesting he knows deep down that there is something out there, and it hungers for their blood. He has felt it calling to him at night, wanting him to find the horn and sound it. He does not know where the horn is or whether he could do it, but the temptation is there, and that terrifies him. He was supposed to have given that up after the war. That now, at the old age he stands at is beginning to feel the pull of it once more, is sign that he is not worth the black he wears, perhaps that is why he is doing the things he is doing.

The sword weighs, and the burden he carries within him is something that means he is more vicious. He has always been a vicious fighter, his father said as much before he killed him. But it has been so long since he was filled with so much purpose, that he does not quite know what to make of it. He struggles through it all, screaming inside and laughing on the outside. His pain seeps through and he groans and roars as more bodies fall before him, his mind is a whir with the tales of dead things in the water, on the land and the crossing of the blue eyes. A truth he did not want to understand, but knows all so well now. It will come, and he knows there is nothing they can do to stop it.

His body aches, his mind is weary but the sight of wildlings fills him with fire. He will go down bringing as many of these bastards as he can. This is the only reason he has allowed himself to live, to allow himself to feel as a man does for so long, otherwise he would have allowed himself to die, that day long ago when Reed stared at him. Gods to feel death and its embrace would be a welcome thing now. And yet it seems his old friend has left him, it has gone and it will not come for him now, when he most needs it. That is something that has left him feeling empty inside, the fighting continues but he is dead to the world. There is nothing more to him than this now. Nothing at all, it has been for some time that thought depresses him and leaves him wondering whether he ever was anything at all.

His sword guides him as it has done before, it is his escape, his one way of expressing that which eats at him. He bleeds through the cracks and allows the anger to seep through. The rage at the world that fills him now and then, the feeling of being alone, and of being stagnant, he does not know where these come from, but they have always been there, the guardians of his most darkest secret. A secret his family has taken to the grave with them, something that cannot be allowed out, for if it is, he will die now and be forever remembered as the man who allowed it all to slip. He dealt with such a thing many time before, and now, when he is old and grey, he cannot face it again. He wishes for sleep something that has been denied him for so very long.

The world falters before him, and the storm gathers, wolves howl somewhere and his mind begins to shut down, he does not know where he can go from here. Something inside of him is telling this is it, this is the end, the thing he has so craved. Another part of him is yelling that this cannot be true, this cannot be his time. The blue eyes crawl forward and his mind goes numb with fear.


	13. Wolf Of The Night

**6 th Month of 300 A.C. Castle Black **

**King Rickon I Stark**

Castle Black had been a veritable well of chaos when they had arrived, it was clear that some sort of battle had happened. There were bodies strewn across the ground and there was blood everywhere. Fearful of the dead coming back to life, Rickon had ordered their bodies burned, and his men had willingly complied. It still surprised him, the power his word had over his men, these were not children, but grown men and yet they followed him. Whether it was because he was some sort of god, or because of the direwolf at his side he did not know, he did not care truth be told. It only served him that they serve him. And so the bodies had burned and others had been tended to, and now Rickon had marshalled those that needed to be marshalled into the hall of Castle Black so that he might speak to them.

He looked out at the hall and felt anger spawn forth within him, these were the fools who had attempted to kill his brother, these were the fools who had tried to endanger the north with their pride and hubris, and they deserved destruction not reprieve. And yet that was what he would give them, for all their sakes. His voice was harsh as he spoke. “Men of the Watch you have failed, you have failed in your duty. You have given way to greed and to corruption. You do not realise that the true enemy, the true enemy who stalks on its legs, those cold legs looking to bring us all to our knees. This is unacceptable.”

There was silence for a moment and then a voice sprung out, harsh and clear. “And who are you to tell us what the watch can and cannot do boy? The watch does not get involved in the affairs of the north and you do not get involved with our affairs. That is the way it has always been, why change it now?”

Rickon scans the crowd but cannot find the face to go with the name and says. “Because these are not normal times, there is a threat more pressing than old grudges and tradition. The true reason that the wall and the watch were built is coming toward us at a gathering pace, and there is no reason for us to allow for petty grievances to destroy us before the threat comes.”

“Threat? What threat? The threat the bastard says is coming? The threat that none of us have seen? Why should we put ourselves into an accord with our age old rivals because of the word of the bastard?” A man with greying hair and a sharp face asks, from Jon’s descriptions of the man, Rickon guesses this might be Ser Allister Thorne.

He feels anger rise then, but fights to keep his voice calm. “The threat you all have seen. Do not try to deny it, you all know that it is coming. Even if you have not seen it, you have felt it. There is nothing more important than preparing for this threat.”

There is a murmur at that and a voice calls out. “There is something more important! We are sitting in a hall filled with wildlings and we are not killing them. What in the name of the seven devils is wrong with us? And why have we not strung the bastard up for desertion?”

There is some murmured agreement at that, but overly the hall is quiet, Rickon his anger growing, snarls. “My brother is no traitor, this damned place is filled with traitors. Men who have forgotten their oaths and tried to commit treason when they attacked my brother. He is the Lord Commander of the Watch, and whatever he did, he did for the benefit of the wall.”

Shouts of approval echo up at this, and a wildling says. “Tis true, Jon Snow did what he thought was best, we have survived because of him.”

A brother of the watch says. “We are more able to understand the threat that is coming because of the Lord Commander.”

A chorus of approval comes up from this and Rickon taking heart from it says. “Those who led the attack on the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch are known to me, and as such I have sufficient punishments planned for them.”

“You cannot do that! The Watch’s affairs are completely separate to those of the other realms!” a voice shouts.

Rickon looks around at the hall and replies his voice filled with contempt. “The Watch has failed numerous times to live up to what is expected of it. It is because of this I as Lord of Winterfell and King of the North have decided to place the Night’s Watch under removal and in its place my brother, Prince Jon Stark shall be named Lord of the Wall. The Night’s Watch will become an entity sworn to the Lord of the Wall and he to Winterfell as a vassal. From this day forth that is my will and it shall be done.”

A cry comes out at this. “This is wrong, so very wrong.” One voice shouts, a chorus comes up in agreement.

A louder chorus shouts. “This is what is necessary, but what of us? Do we side with the free folk or what?”

Rickon looks at his brother and then says. “The free folk shall be allowed to settle in the gift and in some of the castles on the wall, provided they swear fealty to me and provide me with men with which to fight the enemies of the north.”

“You are not the king of anything yet boy!” a voice shouts. “The Boltons hold your home and your castle, your word has no power here.”

Rickon snarls then. “By my word, I order the arrest and seizure of Bowen Marsh, Allister Thorne, Oryck and their associates. Thorne and Oryck are to be put to death, their associates to suffer the same fate, whilst Marsh is to be kept in an ice cell until further time.”

There is a great commotion, but the men in question are seized by his own men or by their fellow sworn brothers or wildlings and taken away. Rickon looks at his brother then a smug look on his face. One part of his plan has been completed, now it is time for the next.

* * *

 

**Jon Stark**

It was still a surprise to him that his brother had legitimised him. It had been agreed upon beforehand and he had been confirmed as his brother’s heir should Rickon die without having a child, and yet it still felt odd. He had always wanted to be a Stark and now he was one, and yet there was still a strange taste in his mouth. And now he was Lord of the Wall, something he was not certain of. There had been much commotion in the days and weeks following his brother’s pronouncement, many had been quick to swear loyalty to him whilst others had either disappeared or been killed. He did not fail to note that many of the men who swore fealty to him were free folk, there was something there at least.

The main opposition to his new position at the wall in Allister Thorne and Oryck had been killed along with their many allies. His brother had seen to their deaths, swinging his sword, a thing of pure white, glistening in the sun, with strength and purpose. Jon had thought of offering aid once, but had not done so, knowing his brother would want to do this himself. And so they were dead, only Marsh was alive, and that was something that intrigued Jon, he wanted to know why his brother was so interested in speaking to Marsh. It seemed that today he would get to find that out, as his brother and he were standing in front of Marsh’s ice cell. The man looked worn down and tired, his skin clung to him like an ill-fitting rag.

“Have you come to sentence me to death?” Marsh rasps, looking between Jon and Rickon.

His brother replies. “No. We have come to speak with you traitor.”

Marsh looks confused then. “Speak to me? About what?”

Rickon looks at him then before turning his attention to Marsh. “About your family and its role in all this.”

Jon looks at his brother and then Marsh feeling quite confused. Marsh though seems to know what his brother is going on about. “Ah,” he says. “So it has come to this, I always thought it would. Though I did not think it would be so soon.”

“What are you speaking of?” Jon asks, determined to fully understand what this conversation is about.

“About the Marsh family, which this man comes from. They have played a role in the thing that is to come. I know this much, and I want to know more.” Rickon says his voice hard.

“They have played a role in the coming of the white walkers? How?” Jon asks.

“Not the White Walkers Lord Jon,” Marsh says rather formally. “The Children. My family as with many families of the neck have strong associations with the children, dating back to the age of heroes. We swore some sort of fealty to them, to ensure that we did not forget the old ways, and in return we would always hold sovereignty over the neck.”

“But you do not, the Reeds do and have done for many a millennia.” Jon says.

“Aye, that is true. But it was not always the case, when your family began looking beyond the walls of Winterfell, my family still ruled the Neck, but in time we began to run out of power and allies. The Starks were far too powerful and they opposed the old way, in favour of the new. The children tried to help us and they died for it. We were cast down but a curse was put upon the Reeds and your family by the children for years after.” Marsh says.

“Curse?” Jon asks sceptically. “What curse?”

“The curse that your line would come to an end, or close enough that others would come to take your place. There would be one who would try to remove all proof of your existence, and he would nearly succeed.” Marsh says.

Jon looks at Marsh sceptically and asks. “Who is this man and why does he nearly succeed?”

Marsh looks at him a moment and says. “I do not know his name, but I think it should be fairly obvious considering the state of the north. And he nearly succeeds because of his victories, but falls at the last hurdle to the wolf of the night.”

“The Wolf of the Night.” Jon hears his brother breathe.

“The Wolf of the Night? Who is this Wolf of the Night?” Jon asks.

“The reason the lord fails to win over the north. He comes with his armies and destroys the lord and his allies. He breaks them down and turns them into ash, ready for when the sacrifice must be made.” Marsh says.

“Sacrifice?” Jon asks. “What sacrifice?”

“The darkness is coming Lord Jon, a darkness the like of which this world has not seen in millennia. Death stalks on blue eyes and blue legs, and they will not remain dead for their king is coming. And the only way to destroy them is to give them something they never wanted, one of their own. Someone who can be bled to death and turned from life into death. For death does not like death.” Marsh says.

Jon feels his patience grow thin. “You are speaking in riddles old man. Either speak clearly or I will kill you.”

“The truth is there for you to see my lord, my king, if you would only look for it. It is there for you to find. You two are our only hope. Without you knowing what needs to be done this world is finished. They shall win.” Marsh says.

“They?” Jon asks, “Who are these people or things you speak of?”

His brother is looking intently at Marsh, and Jon feels something like dread pool inside of him. Marsh coughs slightly and says. “Those you have been speaking of for some time my lord. The white walkers, they are coming and in great numbers. They have an ally they did not have before though.”

“Who?” Jon and his brother both demand. “Who is their ally?”

Marsh gives a crooked grin then, blooding falling from his mouth. “The three eyed raven and the broken boy, the boy who was once a prince and now is nothing.”


	14. She Wolves

**7 th Month of 300 A.C. The Gates of the Moon**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

She followed Randa down the hallway and into the dark, her heart hammering. She was not sure where her friend was taking her, but wherever it was her friend was being deeply secretive about it. Enough so that Sansa was beginning to feel nervous, Randa had not changed in how she treated Sansa or how she acted toward her, and one would think there had been no change, but Sansa could tell there was. Her friend felt something and she would not tell her what it was, that was damn infuriating for Sansa. Whatever it was that her friend wanted her to see, it was clearly worth a lot, for they had left the feast early and none had noticed yet.

Eventually Randa stopped when they came to a room, which had a opened door, her friend paused a moment and turned to look at Sansa briefly, before turning back and entering the room. Sansa followed and was surprised to see Nestor Royce and his son Albar sat there. They had both been at the feast and had not left, or had not when Sansa had looked last. She curtsied. “My lords.”

“Please my princess, there is no need for that. We know who you are and you know who we are.” Lord Nestor says in that deep voice of his.

Sansa sighed then and asks. “Why am I here my lord? What was the need for such great secrecy? I did not see you leave the feast.”

A look of discomfort passes across Lord Nestor’s face and he says simply. “I left after you did. Truth be told I wanted to leave long ago, Baelish is a most disgusting man, and yet there are times when one must put up with his company. Today was one of those occasions.” He pauses a moment and then says. “As to why you are here, well my princess, now that you know that we all know who you are, we must speak about what is to come.”

It takes Sansa a moment to truly understand what the man is referring to and then it clicks. “You mean the tourney and the prospect of my betrothal to Harrold Hardying?”

Lord Nestor nods. “Aye, the tourney was a smart move, bringing all the knights here. It puts more pressure on Baelish and makes him have to try and charm us rather than swindle us into his power. He is struggling, very much so. Of course, your prospective betrothal to Harrold the heir is somewhat interesting, if you still wish to go through with it, the Lords Declarant will not oppose it.”

Sansa is surprised. “The Lords Declarant know whom I am?”

Lord Nestor laughs. “Of course they do my princess, your mother and father not two people one could easily forget, and no hair dye that that monster might use can remove that fact. You are a Princess of the north, and as such we are honour bound to aid you, for your mother and father’s sake, and for yours as well. So tell me, my princess what do you wish.”

Sansa is momentarily awed by this, she has some of the most powerful lords of the Vale ready and willing to fight for her, and because of her, not because of her name or her parents. She takes a moment and then says. “I wish for the betrothal to Harry to go through my lord. It is the only way to guarantee that Baelish does not begin to suspect anything, and it is also a way to make sure that Lord Robert is kept well.”

Lord Nestor nods. “Though you are of course aware that the moment you are with child, both your husband and cousin will die aren’t you my princess? After all Baelish will hunger for you, and indeed he seems to already. The man must fall.”

Sansa nods and says. “His power is not as strong as he likes to think. He knows that the Lords Declarant grow impatient, and he knows that the Corbrays are not happy with him. They want something they cannot have, and as such are looking toward turning once more. The Graftons grow impatient as well, the regime in King’s Landing has not fallen.”

“It is very close to falling. Tommen Waters sits the throne whilst the whore of Casterly Rock and his wife fight over control. Meanwhile an army pillages the Stormlands and Dorne has finally mobilised. The Faith sits in chaos, whilst a dragon stirs in the east, and heads west. The Lannisters will not last for long nor shall the Tyrells.” Nestor Royce says.

“What of the north?” Sansa asks, hoping she does not sound too desperate.

“The north? The north is in chaos. Bolton defeated Baratheon at the battle outside of Winterfell, and as such seems to have seen his power strengthened. He shall not be moved for the time being, and yet Stannis is not beaten, he retreated and has since taken Torrhen’s Square, and the man is winning some admiration in the north but not enough to make men flock to his banner.” Nestor Royce says.

Sansa nods. “Of course not, he is not a Stark. His red woman is someone who will also ensure that many northmen do not venture too close toward him. They will offer tacit support nothing more.”

“That most definitely seems to be the case. Especially considering events at the wall.” Lord Nestor says.

“What happened at the wall?” Sansa asks surprised, she had not heard of this.

“A man marched from Last Hearth with an army of Skaagosi and Umber men and took control of the Watch and the wall, and indeed there is no watch anymore. It has been dissolved.” Lord Nestor replies.

That does surprise Sansa. “Someone has dissolved the watch? Who is this man who feels confident enough to do such a thing and earn the support of the Lords of the North?”

Lord Nestor looks as if he is bracing himself for something, which makes Sansa tense slightly. Lord Nestor takes a breath for a moment and then says. “A man calling himself Rickon Stark, the King in the North.”

* * *

 

**Girl of Many Names**

She wandered the streets listening to the cries of the many people, the street vendors, and the hustle and bustle of the city. It was fascinating to her, now that she could hear properly, she no longer worried about being discovered, there were somethings that needed to be heard and then there were somethings that needed to be heard. It was a distinction that had taken her a long time to get to grips with. Sometimes she wondered whether there was any purpose to what she was doing and then she remembered the image before her in the house, the grotesque image of death and the plague, and she knew she was doing the right thing, though sometimes it became hard to tell.

She looked at the kindly man and spoke. “The eels did not sell as much today. It seems that the merchants do not like their eels during winter.”

The kindly man was silent a moment and then replies. “A girl has learned quickly. The merchants take their pick when they wish and the rest of the time cast off what they do not want. It is for the beggars the children then that the eels go to.”

“Why is that? What gives them the right to choose what remains in fashion be it food or clothes? They are not gods and goddesses to walk amongst us as if they are better. They are merely people.” She says.

The kindly man looks at her and says simply. “It has always been this way. We have taken what we are given and say no more, for the guilt of complaint does not bring about the rewards of action.”

“That is not the right way to do things.” She says confidently. “The merchants must know that their time will run out. As it did for the princes and the sealords. They must know that soon enough there will come others more powerful and persuasive than them and that when these people arrive there will be no hope for them. They will wither and die, for they cannot adapt. They will not adapt.”

The kindly man looks at her and says. “A girl speak boldly of things that do not concern her. Why does a girl speak so?”

“Because I know the difference between right and wrong. What the merchants do is wrong, and what the innocents do is right. They need to balance each other out otherwise before long there will be change, and when that change comes no one will benefit.” She responds.

“Change?” the kindly man asks confused. “What change? Where is this change coming from? We do not know of change, the change you speak of is many years from coming. A girl speaks boldly without proof of her claims.”

Arya stands boldly then and proclaims. “I know the secrets of the house. The Iron Bank has long funded the house, but it existed before that, when dragons roamed the skies and magic and truth were about. The house existed not for death but for the one purpose of a girl who had been spurned. She sought revenge for her spurning.”

The kindly man says nothing for a moment and Arya moves her hand toward where her dagger has been placed. Then the man says. “A girl speaks one truth of many truths about the house. But which one is truer?”

“That is why there is a statue and many statues of gods and goddesses. The girl wanted them all to be represented to show that there was nothing wrong with the mixing of peoples. She had been rejected once, and so she sought never to reject any who wanted to seek aid from her. But something happened she changed, death changed her, she became that which she had despised and then the darkness came.” Arya states.

The kindly man moves closer to her and Arya pulls the dagger out slowly. “A girl speaks a version, but does not know where the truth begins and the fable ends. Where did she hear this?”

“I heard it from one of the hands here. They speak when they are drunk. I also heard of something called the wolf of the night. Who is the wolf of the night?” she asks.

The kindly man stiffens at that. “Where did you hear this name?”

“On the street, the merchants speak of this man with fear and curse his name. They seem to think he will bring winter itself.” Arya says watching the kindly man for any sign of fear.

The man’s face is blank but his voice is filled with fear. “A girl does not know what she heard. There is no Wolf of the Night. No such thing exists here, there is only the Lion of the Night.”

“The lions are all dead or dying, I saw to that.” Arya says dismissively. “Wolves are to be more feared than lions, especially when they hunt in packs. The wolf of the night has a pack brother that much I know. You quiver in fear and hide your fear and I want to know why.”

The kindly man does not reply immediately, and then he turns to look at her, his eyes a sinister red. “A girl has found out things she was not supposed to know, a girl has not paid the right price for such information and now she must die.”

Arya is stunned by this. “What? Why? I have done nothing wrong, except from looking for information, as any good faceless man would do.”

The man’s face changes then into something sinister, its eyes gleaming its mouth curled into a snarl. “A girl has gone beyond what she was expected to do. She must not find the wolf of the night.”

The man pounces but Arya anticipating this leans back and the man’s swipe just misses her neck, as his swing takes him off balance she very quickly leans in and thrusts the dagger into his neck. She ducks his next swing and then dances away from him watching as the blood, a blueish colour descends from his neck, spilling everywhere. A groan, or a roar descends from his mouth and then he changes, she sees the images of her family flash before her, and she screams, and through the screams she hears her brother’s voice calling to her, telling her to run. To run and find the pack once more.


	15. Winterfell

**8 th Month of 300 A.C. Outside Winterfell**

**King Stannis I Baratheon**

Snow covers the ground, painted white, a chill fills the air, Stannis knows that his men are tired and weary and yet there is a sense of hope amongst them. the taking of Torrhen’s Square gave them hope, the Ironborn there were routed though the absence of the Tallharts was worrying for Stannis and makes him think that there is some other game afoot here in the north. Word coming back from the wall speaking of a Stark coup and the absorption of the watch and the wall into the northern kingdom grates on him, that the bastard would think to use his dead brother as an excuse for power, that, that is the height of impudence. Stannis will punish the bastard once all this is done. There can only be one king, and he is that king, not Stark, not the bastard that currently sits the throne. Only he can rule.

The Bolton men have found them easily enough, just as they did the first time, except this time Stannis has allowed them to come and find him. He will not allow them to hunt him down or capture his family. His wife and daughter are at Torrhen’s Square as is Melisandre, she wished to come but he would not allow her to, he will not have men say that his victory came from her magic. Though he misses her touch, he misses her hair, and he misses being inside of her. But such thoughts are not worthy of being thought of during the heat of battle, and so Stannis pushes them aside and fights the men that are coming toward him rushing and screaming roar cries.

His sword swings, Lightbringer heavy and strong in his hands cuts through the enemy that comes toward him. He fights to kill, that is the only way these men can die and his men can win, anything else is not going to be enough, he has seen it in Melisandre’s fires. His sword swings and hacks, men fall and die screaming for their mothers and their partners, Stannis grits his teeth and pushes through, his sword and his men are dripping in blood, the blood of their foes and each other, swinging and slashing, hacking and cutting. There is chaos all around them, the snow makes it hard to move easily and yet Stannis manages to continue through it all.

They push through the storms that have suddenly developed, the wind whipping through them all, men fall crying out, screaming for relief, more men come to attack him and his men, his sword holds firm and his line holds firm and so it goes, pushing through and fighting destroying those in his way. Lightbringer glows brightly as the push continues, the snow and the wind have dampened the light and the sun has gone, darkness is descending, and still Stannis and his men fight, they push through the convergence and howl themselves through. He will not die in this frozen wasteland far from home, far from King’s Landing and his throne. The push comes hard and fast, the lines are shattering through the break and snow whips around their fee, thickening.

Stannis looks around for the bastard of Bolton but cannot see him in the darkness, the snow that blows and falls is disrupting his line of sight and yet his sword seems to be doing most of the thinking for him. It slashes and hacks when it needs to, it raises itself and defends itself when appropriate, Stannis barely has to think for his mind to act, and so they push forward running through the Bolton soldiers fairly easily ensuring that Stannis and his men do not have too hard a climb to get toward the frozen white knife. The cracks are appearing in the Bolton line, their men look scared and weak, the bastard of Bolton does not look like he will be showing himself, and so Stannis growls his commands and his men break through the ranks.

There is a howl somewhere in the distance and suddenly the sound of hooves and the sounding of horns and then the flayed man of House Bolton coming towards him and his men. “Hold!” Stannis barks. His men hold, and slowly very slowly his men begin to form into the formations that they were taught before the battle began. Slowly very slowly the Bolton men come into play and the push comes, swords swing, and men fall down, blood falls, snow whirls and howls sound. Stannis roars commands and men form and run toward their deaths, Stannis senses that perhaps this might well be his last battle and if it is then he will not die without a fight. His sword is dripping red with blood, truly dripping red, red like the hair of Melisandre, and his mind begins to stir.

Snow is covering the ground, the bodies of the fallen are slowly disappearing into the white, the cold has come and with it has come the feeling for Stannis that perhaps this was not the right move. Something is stirring and he does not know what it is, but there is something going on around here and there are things waking that he does not know. A feeling deep inside, something primal, something that brings back memories of when he was a child, a sense of fear, a sense that there are more things to come, his gut is telling him to run, whereas his mind is telling him to stay and hold. Fleeing is not an option, fleeing is not the right course of action.

The Bolton men come charging toward them his men are beginning to weaken, his hold on them is falling, the spell does not work it seems. The winter winds are blowing ferociously now, his sword arm aches, his body aches and is covered in a multitude of bruises and cuts. He does not know where they have come from, and yet he knows he will not run, he will not run and cower, for no matter what he has become he is still a Baratheon, and Baratheons do not run. As his death stalks toward him on a flayed banner, he hears a wolf howl and the sky blackens.

* * *

 

**King Rickon I Stark**

He can feel Winterfell, his home is nearly his, and he can see it from where they are on the crest of the snow covered hill. His heart is hammering in his chest, his nerves are making him more on edge than normal. Beside him his brother is sat silently, watching the proceedings with a blank and expressionless face. Osha is on his other side, silent and watchful as well, Rickon takes some reassurance from their presence beside him, he knows that what is to come will be hard work and he needs to be alert, completely alert in order to ensure that nothing goes awry here.

They can hear the sounding of hooves in the distance and Rickon knows that the Boltons are coming into play. It was a clever move what Roose Bolton did, sending his bastard out with scouts and then sending the Freys, he had of course had to have the bastard killed using the old magics, he would never forget or forgive the bastard for what he had done. The ground had given in and the bastard and his men had fallen to their deaths, eliciting cheers from Rickon’s men. Now was the time for true action, Baratheon could not die, not yet, Rickon needed him alive to ensure that the ritual could be carried out. And so looking at his brother he nodded once and together they blew the horns of winter and their charge began.

Rickon’s heart hammers in his chest, this will be his first proper battle and though he knows what he can do, it is one thing to know and another to actually implement it. His heart hammers in his chest, Shaggydog lopes at his side teeth bared, as they get close to where the point of impact will be Shaggydog gives a howl and Rickon joins him. It is this howl that causes the ground to shake, the ground shakes and shudders, and the snow begins to twist and turn, whirl winds of snow and ice come falling from the sky toward the Bolton men as his own charge onward. He can feel tiredness beginning to seep in as the howl elongates itself, but he knows that the length is necessary in order for it to be effective. Eventually they stop howling and there are a sea of bodies left lying on the ground.

There is silence for a moment and then a cry goes up as his men celebrate what looks like the first sign of a clear victory, Rickon looks at Jon whose skin has gone pale, then turning back to the battle before him he growls another word in the old tongue and watches with some satisfaction as the bodies begin to fall away into the crate of snow, disappearing into the earth, they will not rise now, not until he wants them to. He raises a mailed fist and points it toward where the coming armies are, his men roar and they charge. His heart is still hammering but there is a certain sense of relief inside of him at the fact that his powers work. Drawing his sword he notices that it is gleaming red and white in the darkness, a good sign, a good omen that the sword glistens as it does.

The Bolton and Baratheon men look frayed and tired, and yet they are fighting fiercely when Rickon and his men enter the fray. There is some confusion initially, but Rickon knows what needs to be done and so barking commands, he swishes and slashes, his sword cutting down foes that come before him. His blood is pumping through his veins at a ferocious speed, the magic always does this to him, it makes him feel alive, the wolf inside him coming to life from a deep slumber. His sword swathes through the vast amount of bodies that are in the throng and when he looks again he has cleared the throng and his sword is dripping red with blood.

He does not know how he knows, but he knows that Stannis Baratheon is a prisoner of his now, the Baratheon army has faded or is dead and destroyed, whatever it is his magic has done the trick. They are lying there bleeding on the snow covered ground, and a thought comes to him, if the enemy will use dead bodies to do their work for him, why should he not do the same? Might as well fight the enemy with the same game, and so though he knows this breaks everything the gods showed him, he takes a deep breath and then howls at the moon, Shaggydog and Ghost follow him and soon as the howls continue and turn mournful the dead rise from their shadowy graves their eyes a deep blue like his own, and they look toward him once before staggering towards the enemy.

Rickon’s voice hurts but he continues howling as the new soldiers eat and tear their way through the enemy, bit by bit, piece by piece the enemy falls to death, and Rickon feels a savage sort of pleasure as this happens. His men watch on in a mixture of horror and fascination Rickon knows, and his brother looks like he has seen a strange apparition, but Rickon turns and looks at him and his brother merely nods before turning and barking commands and leading the men toward Winterfell. Rickon will not allow Bolton to get away, not this time, they shall suffer for the crimes Bolton has done, and now Rickon intends to turn him into the darkness.

Battle and plague, that is what awaits if this is not done, and though it sickens him to his very core, Rickon allows for the creatures before him to feast on the dead, turning them into an army the like of which the north has not seen since the very first king of Winter. They will not allow the true enemy to fight unfairly, not this time, and not again. He looks at Shaggydog, and the wolf sensing his thoughts howls into the darkness, and the darkness follows. Winterfell awaits and he will have his home before he turns back north. The enemy cannot be allowed to gain a stronghold. He will have his brother back from the children and they will die for the lies they have told them all.


	16. Tortured Knights

**10 th month of 300 A.C. Somewhere in the Riverlands**

**Ser Jaime Lannister**

His arms ached, there was a pain unlike any he had ever known. Something inside of him was screaming, constantly screaming, but there was no relief from the pain. It was eating away at him, reducing him to something not quite man, but not quite broken. When he thought it would end they pulled him back from the darkness and offered him hope only to have it begin all over again. Jaime was in pain, more pain than he had ever been in before, his back ached from the scars they had given him, his arms ached and were bruised, and his heart, his heart ached the most from the scent of Cersei’s betrayal.

The brotherhood without banners did not care though, for his face was pushed up and his eyes forced open and the questions began again. “Tell us where the Lady Sansa is Ser Jaime and we shall end this.”

Jaime snorts. “I do not know where she is, nor do I know where she could have gone. I only know she is missing and has been ever since King Joffrey died.”

The pincers are put to his body then and he winces in pain. “You lie Ser. It is not chivalrous to lie, especially not to a lady. And our lady has been so good to you.”

Jaime looks at the hooded figure standing off in the shadows and then at the hooded man before him. “I do not believe you have that right. The lady is nothing but a barbarian, similar to my family and my father. She is nothing like what she professes to be.”

A hammer blow comes to his cheek then and the hooded man growls. “Enough, answer the question Lannister, otherwise you will die. Or rather will it be the wench who dies?”

He does not know why but looking at Brienne strung there her face broken, her arms limp and her form prone, makes his heart twist. “No, not the wench. You said to me that she would be fine so long as I answered your questions. And I have. I do not know where the damned Stark girl is nor where her other girl is.”

Another blow, and this time Jaime begins seeing lights. “Do not lie again Kingslayer. You are the son of Tywin Lannister, the man’s golden child. He would most definitely have told you of his plots and plans regarding the Lady Sansa. So tell me know or I shall leave you for the noose.”

Jaime thinks fast, remembering snippets of the conversation he had during Tyrion’s trial with his father, they are brief and fleeting but there is something there. “The….The… The Vale. That’s where he thought she would have gone.”

The hammer raises and then stops, as the hooded woman rasps something and the hooded man speaks. “The Vale? Why would she go to the Vale?”

Jaime consider saying something smart but decides against it. “I do not know, but all I know is that Petyr Baelish showed an unusual amount of interest in her. At least that is what my father told me. It is possible he had her smuggled out when things got looking rough.”

It seems that this has done something, for the hooded woman lets something of a gasp of surprise out and the hooded man’s posture notes surprise. “Baelish?” he whispers. “Why would that cur want her?”

Jaime curious as to why both these hooded figures are showing so much interest in the Stark girl asks. “What is she to you? Do you hope to use her to claim the north?”

A hammer blow and then a growl. “No. She is a girl who was wronged so many times, it is only time she be brought back to her rightful home that is all you need to know. Now what else do you know?”

Jaime sighs. “Nothing, how many times do I have to tell you? I do not know anything more, and continuously asking me that is not going to do me or you any good.”

The hammer hits again. Jaime feels as if he will throw up before too long. The man’s breath is hot next to his ear. “None of that cheek Kingslayer, you have not earned the right yet. Now tell us what more you know of the Lannisters and their plots.”

Jaime sighs. “Nothing. I know nothing else. Now cut me loose, or I will kill you myself.”

The man laughs then, a throaty chuckle. “You, kill me? Once perhaps, when you were a man. But now you are nothing, nothing more than skin and bones. Your family is tearing itself apart, and there is nothing you can do about it.” Silence follows this and then a hooded woman gestures at Jaime and then at Brienne and back to Jaime, the man nods and then turns and asks. “Tell me Kingslayer, when you were in Winterfell you spent a night with the queen did you not?

Caution has never been Jaime’s strong point, and now he simply throws it away. “I have spent many nights with the queen, she was me and I was her. Now what is this about?”

“Brandon Stark.” The hooded man says his voice turning menacing.

“What of him?” Jaime asks, though he thinks he knows what is to come.

“You pushed him from the broken tower did you not? In an act of supposed protection of your and your sister’s crime?” the hooded man asks.

Jaime’s stomach sinks then. “I did. The boy was spying, he saw things he should not have seen.”

The hooded man snorts. “Of course that is the excuse you use Kingslayer. You are a man without honour. The boy was merely that a boy, he did not know what he was seeing, you could have done many things then to convince him not to speak, instead you pushed him from a tower, and then your son sent someone to kill him. You all deserve death.”

Jaime knows what is to come next, he looks at the hooded man and asks. “Are you going to kill me then? Without a trial?”

The hooded man chuckles softly and says. “Oh no, you have had your trial, and I am not going to be killing you, my lady is.”

Jaime sees the woman walking toward him then lowering her hood, when she stands before him he sees Catelyn Stark, or what looks like Catelyn Stark standing before him, and then she turns into his mother and the shock of that makes him scream as the knife is plunged into his neck and the world turns black.

* * *

 

**Ser Brynden Tully**

The darkness was encroaching, it was something he did not truly care for but he knew it was his friend. It was the only way to ensure that there was nothing wrong with the way he moved. He could not change being found once more, a party of Freys had nearly found him but he had managed to avoid them for long enough. There was too much riding on this now, too much for him to risk being captured. The girl needed to be safe, and yet he was not convinced that she would last. She looked far too ill to be healthy, not for the first time Brynden wondered why his king had chosen this girl out of all of them. Why her and not someone from the Riverlands or even the north?

Still there were other things that needed sorting out and so he looked at the girl and when she nodded he turned to the men before him and spoke. “We all know of what has come to pass in the north do we not?” the men nod and Brynden goes on. “Stannis Baratheon is dead, and a Stark sits in Winterfell once more. Whether it is the king’s half-brother or the king’s full born brother does not matter, so long as the direwolf sits in Winterfell we shall rest easy for the nonce for that matter. But we must deal with what is left of the Freys and their allies.”

Brynden Blackwood the heir of Raventree Hall speaks then. “They are lessening in number my lord. It seems that the rest of our fellow lords are coming to their senses now. With the Lannisters and the Tyrells fighting one another in the capital and Bolton dead in the north, they have none holding their chains.”

“Indeed that is true. And yet there are still concerns, the Vances will hold for as long as Walder Frey lives, and once he is gone there will be too much anarchy there for them to really be of use in a direct sense.” Brynden replies.

“What are you thinking my lord?” Clement Piper asks.

“We must use them to force our way into the Twins the moment Walder Frey dies there will be a struggle for power. I intend to use that to our benefit. There are still prisoners in the Twins, we must ensure that they are freed before time.” Brynden says.

“Can we trust Olyvar and Perwyn though? They might not have been at that damned wedding, but they did nothing to stop it. How do we know they won’t just betray us?” Lord Lymond Lychester asks.

Brynden looks at the man and says simply. “We must trust that they will do the right thing. They are good men, and good knights, their family is one of corruption. They are content not to hold the place for as long as we need. But we must act quickly.”

There is silence a moment as the sound of hooves reaches them, the hooves stop and a man comes walking toward them panting. Ser Desmond Grell stands there is form tattered and torn, but otherwise jubilant. “We know where the princess Sansa is my lords.”

Silence and then Brynden asks. “How, and where?”

Grell is silent a moment and then responds. “Lemon, he came to me when the deed with Lannister was done. It seems Lannister spoke before he died. Squealing like a little girl it seems. Baelish took the princess to the Vale.”

“The Vale? Why did he take her to the Vale? What is there for her there?” Lord Piper asks.

“Because my niece was there, she was alive when the death of Joffrey Baratheon occurred. No doubt the boy thought he was doing the princess a favour through taking her there. Gods alone knows how the boy’s brain works.” Brynden says.

“Would Baelish look to use her to claim Winterfell? After all the man did marry Lady Lysa to secure his position in the court, as well as claiming Harrenhal even though he has not even set foot in the castle since taking the lordship of it.” Lord Lychester asks.

Brynden considers this a moment and then responds. “I am not sure, the boy was always ambitious and he always knew how to get things done that Edmure could not do. But then to use a girl who would be like his own niece for such a purpose? I do not know, something seems wrong here.”

Lord Lymond speaks then. “Baelish seems like a man who considers all his moves very carefully before making any sort of move. If the Princess is in the Vale then Baelish most definitely intends to get something from this. Be it a position of power in Winterfell, or something else, it could well be he intends to wed her himself, after all did Baelish not have a fancy for the princess’s mother?”

“Yes when they were children, and he knows what that got him. Surely the man is not foolish enough to try it again with the princess?” Lord Clement ponders.

With a sinking feeling developing in his gut, Brynden looks at the men around him and says. “I do not think Petyr is a man who learns lessons when it comes to his desires. It is very possible that he might be trying to live the life he could not have with Catelyn through the princess. And if that is the case then it is more important that we go to the Vale than here. I will not have the man try and corrupt another one of my nieces.”

There are some soft murmurings then and Lord Goodbrook says. “If you decide on this course of action my men will follow you. As will I. But the riverlands, the riverlands must have some solid leadership, unless we want the dragons and the Lannisters to come calling once more.”

Brynden sighs then and says. “You speak truly, we shall march for the Twins soon enough, and this time they shall burn.”

 


	17. Loins of Destruction

**12 th Month of 300 A.C. The Gates of the Moon**

**Princess Sansa Stark**

She was to be wed within the next three days, Lord Baelish had made the formal announcement only yesterday, and the well-wishers had come in, wishing her well for her future together with the heir to the Vale, and it was coming close for her return home. Ever since she had learned of Rickon’s survival, she had not stopped thinking of when she could return home. Her dreams were beginning to make sense and now she was determined to return home, no matter the cost. It helped she supposed that Harry was someone who was very pliable, he wanted to please her that much was obvious, and she intended to use that to her full advantage.

She looked at him as they walked through the garden of the gates and she knew he was handsome, he was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes and muscular as well, had she met him at the beginning of all this she might well have loved him, but she did not love him now. Instead she would use him for her own ends, and so taking a breath she asks. “My lord, how much do you know of the north?”

Her betrothed looks somewhat surprised at the question but answers soon enough. “I know that it is a hard land for hard people. And that the people of the north are some of the fiercest fighters in Westeros. Lord Yohn was always saying that your father was one of the best fighters he ever met my princess.”

Sansa nods and then asks. “And how far do you think the knights of the Vale could get in the north if they were to travel by land as Lord Baelish suggests?”

Her betrothed is silent a moment before responding. “Not very far. It is clear that whoever holds Winterfell has the support of the northern lords, if we do as Lord Baelish suggests we will be killed the moment we enter the neck if indeed we even get through the riverlands. It is a maddening process that the man wants us to go through.”

“With my brother in Winterfell, the men of the Vale do not stand a chance. I might be a daughter of Eddard Stark, but my gender will impede any attempts that Baelish makes to try and win some sort of point with my brothers. I do not know how much they know of what has occurred in King’s Landing and the rest of the realm, but they will know Baelish was behind most of it.” Sansa says.

Her betrothed looks at her a moment and asks. “What do you wish for me to do my princess?”

Sansa looks at him then and asks. “What do you make of your cousin? What do you make of Lord Robert?”

Harry looks somewhat off put by the change in question but answers nonetheless. “He is a child, I have not spent much time with him, and yet he is my liege lord, if he were to ask me to jump I would only ask how high. It is the way things are meant to be.”

Sansa nods debating over whether or not to tell him about Petyr poisoning Robert and decides against it, she shall bring that up later on. Instead she says. “Lord Baelish is a man with many schemes and plots going on at the same time. I know for a fact that he plots to have you murdered following our marriage, once the marriage is consummated he intends to send you off on a hunt to see you killed. He intends to claim our child and use that as a way to gain the north. I do not want that, I want the man dead. And I want him dead now.”

Harry looks completely taken aback by her forthrightness and asks. “How do you intend to see that done my princess? Baelish is well guarded and has allies amongst those who profess to hate him. Surely you can see how difficult that would be to achieve.”

“Difficult to achieve for those who do not know the man like I do. I know when he eats, when he sleeps and when he plots. I could tell you things would make your skin crawl about what that man has done. He is not the saviour everyone thinks he is. There is enough information that I possess that could see him thrown from the moon door, or even exiled.” Sansa says.

“Then why have you not brought this before the lord’s declarant my princess? I know that Lord Yohn would be more than happy to try Baelish and see him removed for the crimes he has and is known to have committed. There is nothing there stopping you from doing as such, so why have you not done so?” Hardying asks.

Sansa sighs, there is so much her betrothed needs to learn. “Because Baelish has men in the Declarant’s camp, you, and yourself have just said so, and as such this is something that must needs be sorted through. I will make these claims once we are wed and there is solid evidence there. For Baelish will slip when the wedding night comes, he will do so for he lusts after me.”

She sees her betrothed stiffen at this, his face contorting into something akin to anger. “Then that is something that must be dealt with. I will not have another man lusting after my wife so openly. What do you need to be done my princess?”

Sansa looks at her betrothed and says. “I need men in place, and I need people in place where I can see them. for Baelish will not fall easily, and he will not fall readily, he will try to protest the fall as far as he can, and when he does come to realise that there is no stopping this fall he will try to do all he can to bring me into it. Are you willing to accept that?”

Her betrothed looks at her his face serious. “I am willing to accept anything for you my princess. We will have justice.”

* * *

 

**Prince Jon Stark**

Winterfell, gods was it strange to be back home, for that was what this place was, not matter how many times he had tried to convince himself otherwise, Winterfell and not the wall was home. It was being rebuilt slowly, his brother’s army of thralls doing the deed, something that irked Jon slightly but he did not truly want to bring it up right now, there was too much else that needed to be done. Stannis was a prisoner, held in chains, blinded, gelded and mutilated beyond belief, his wife and daughter had been brought to Winterfell and Stannis’s wife had been killed, sacrificed to the heart tree on Rickon’s order. Thankfully his brother had not made little Shireen watch, for that would have been something Jon could not stand. Something was changing in his brother, and he was not sure if he liked it.

There was one other issue that remained to be dealt with, and she was staring at Jon and his brother right now. The Lady Melisandre, the fire priestess. She was beautiful there was no denying that but she was a threat. Jon looked at the lady and spoke. “You have lost my lady. Your king is no king and winter still approaches.”

“You have doomed us all with this action of yours Wolf of the Night,” the red lady says. “Stannis Baratheon was the only man who could save us, born amidst smoke and salt upon the isle of Dragonstone.”

Jon snorts then. “Stannis Baratheon was born at Storm’s End not Dragonstone. There was no fire when he was born, only a storm. And his fire was quenched long before he came north. He stood no chance here.”

The red woman looks at him and says. “You know nothing Jon Snow, you who were a bastard and longed for what your brother now holds. You could not begin to understand it, and yet you do so at the same time.”

Jon feels the anger he felt at the words that the red whore had used dissipate into fear at her new words. He looks at her and says. “You do not know my heart or my mind woman, do not pretend to know otherwise. You and your king failed to win here, and that is a sign if any were needed that you are not welcomed here.”

The red woman looks at him a moment her gaze piercing before she turns to his brother and says. “You have used your power for the darkness that gathers, you might have thought that what you were doing was for the best, but it has only worsened the situation. I know the darkness that lives inside your heart, and the world shall suffer for it. Fire is the only thing that break through the ice and ensure that light comes back to the world.”

Jon looks at his brother and sees something akin to deep concentration placed on his face. His brother’s voice is curt when he replies. “You speak of what you do not understand woman. Your god is not the one that brings light it brings only a different time of darkness. There is only one way to cure what ails this world and I am it. Either bend now or die.”

The red woman smirks then and says. “You do not know that of which you speak boy. You are only a child, a child in a man’s body. There is nothing for you to do here now. You have allowed the darkness to come forth once more. And the light, the light has gone from this kingdom. You shall all fall for it now.”

“What nonsense are you speaking now my lady?” Jon asks. “Your king is gone, your queen, well she never was your queen now was she? And you wished to sacrifice the lady Shireen for something that could never have been achieved. The dragons are dead, anything else mere nonsense. You cannot wake dragons from stone, just as you cannot wake wolves from ice.”

There is silence then as they all ponder what they are discussing, and then the red woman laughs, a musical sound, one that nearly enraptures Jon, but he manages to stop it before it can fully control him. “You are both children of summer. That you want for winter to come so badly, is surprising to me. My fires did not show this, they did not show us conversing like this. If anything, it shows that the great other is more powerful than anyone knew. Let me go and I can aid you, let me go and we can fight this together.”

“You speak with a honeyed tongue my lady.” Jon says. “But what guarantee do we have that you will not try to enforce something else on us? Stannis Baratheon was a just man before you came into the fore, now he is nothing but a broken husk of a man he once was. We cannot allow you to spread falsehoods into the realm, for the northmen will never accept you or your god.”

“Then what will you do with me?” the red woman asks. “If you will not allow me to be of service to you, what role am I to play for you?”

Jon looks at his brother then and sees a split moment of hesitation on his brother’s face before he replies. “You will remain here for now and when the time comes for the ritual to be performed you shall be used. Your blood has power in it that much is true, and yet you shall not be burned. I will not give you that much power over proceedings.”

The lady Melisandre looks at Rickon and then at Jon himself and says. “You are being led down a dark path by forces beyond your imagination. Stop now and you might just be saved, otherwise the mockingbird and the great other shall work to destroy you, and all you have done will be undone.”


	18. Wolves Of The Night

****

**2 nd Month of 301 A.C. Braavos**

**Princess Arya Stark**

The ground shook under her feet, the house was shaking, it seemed that the house was falling with the weight of what she had done. The kindly man was dead, she had learned one last secret from this palace of treachery, and now she needed to leave, she could not return here for pain of death. Arya knew that she needed to go home, she needed to find her pack once more, she had spent too long in the wilderness and now it was time to come home. There was nothing for her here, nothing left to fight for, and nothing left to kill. It was time for the wolves to howl.

She ran down the hallway, past rooms which were empty and rooms where people were screaming. She knew their screaming well, for her nightmares were those of a girl not a woman, and a woman not a girl. She dreamt of fire and a lion, stalking on the darkness, and a boy with eyes green as moss staring into her soul. She pushed those thoughts from her mind. She could not afford to have them disturbing her now, she needed to be on the lookout in case something came for her in the darkness.

Darkness something that had once been her friend was now a stringent enemy. She looked around for the shadows that could come sneaking out of the grounds at any moment, she did not for that to happen, but who knew what sort of evils lurked in the world of darkness that the house dwelled in. she knew that it would not last for long, someone would find the kindly man and then they would come looking for her. She needed to get away from the house as quickly as possible, and yet it seemed she was stuck in an endless maze of halls and corridors.

Her arms ache, she does not know why, her whole being is shaken from what she has just done. Arya has just killed the leader of the faceless men, not the women though, the leader of them is still out there somewhere hiding in the shadows waiting and watching, she has done so for a long, long time. Arya fears she might well have woken the woman from her slumber and that will not be good for anyone, such a woman to be alive and walking would only mean more death and destruction. She thinks she knows what will come of that, but she cannot be sure.

Finally she leaves the house of black and white and watches as the ground beneath it continues to shake and heave. Blinking slightly she decides to go to where Arya Stark was last, she takes a deep breath, the stairs are still there ,where they have always been and saying a prayer to the old gods, Arya Stark returns from the darkness, taking needle from the gap and sheathing it into her belt. From there she runs toward the harbour. Already there is chaos, as many peoples begin wondering why the ground is shaking, they do not know where it is coming from, but soon enough they will.

Ragman’s Harbour comes into view, and Arya breathes a sigh of relief, she knows that soon enough people will be looking for her, there is no doubt in her mind that the woman will send someone to look out for her. And if they were to find her, it does not bear thinking about. She runs down the street and begins panting as her breath begins leaving her, tiredness fills her every being. Something inside her tells her that if she does not make it to the harbour she will not make it through the night.

The harbour appears before her, and with her sword moving side to side, she jumps over the plank and begins her rapid descent toward the ship she knows, or rather her gut tells her is going to Westeros. The push continues, her heart is hammering, she is sweating rapidly, and her breath comes out in heavy breaths. There is so much that needs to be done, that needs to be said, and yet she knows she is not the person to do such. She knows that staying to speak would only worsen her situation, she already lost herself once, and she does not want to lose herself again. That that would be unthinkable.

Her arms are aching, and the ship is coming into sight, very quickly Arya uses everything she knows to change her appearance slightly making her appear less out of place, and as a deckhand she merely looks at the captain, who does not look at her, and runs onto the deck of the ship. She is not safe just yet though, for she knows that there will be more to come. More is always there, waiting for her, just when she thinks she is safe, more comes and haunts her. It’s like there is something always watching her, always waiting for her, and just when she thinks she is safe, it comes and makes her life a misery.

The ship sways slightly underneath her feet, and looking around she knows that it will soon be setting sail. Taking a deep breath she moves from where she was and walks toward the railing, where she can see the chaos and commotion caused by what she has done. She sees the figures of those she knows from the house walking back toward where the house is, they move slowly but Arya can tell that they are all anxious there are things in the house that none else know about, things Arya knows now, she will be a risk to them, a great risk, and something that they cannot allow to remain unfettered.

As the ship makes off and the port begins to move away from it, Arya looks out into the harbour, a sense of relief filling her, she has not been captured nor killed yet, she is alive, alive to live and fight another day. She looks out into the harbour and her heart stops a moment, for she sees a woman with red hair, her eyes blue as the sky, and a mark on her throat. Her mother looks at her and smiles, the smile of the lady of death.

* * *

 

**The Hole in the Wall**

**Winged Wolf**

The cave was silent, all was silent, the children slept, as did Bran, and as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed of a battle field, covered in snow as men carrying banners fought another army, a mass of wolves and men, and sometimes even wolf men, and as they fought the dead came to life, the dead roamed the grounds and caused chaos, they caused the ground to shake and groan, as bodies grew more and more in number. There was a darkness about this battle, there was something that shocked Bran about it all, it was not organised it was chaotic.

The battle roamed and deserted, and pushed and pulled, and the wolves fought and died, and more came forward. A black wolf came pulsating through leading the charge, and the men fought it and fought it, it killed some and was injured, but eventually it too was killed. Some more came to take its place, and the death that followed was so bad that Bran who had seen much during his time in the cave was shocked and horrified by it. It was never ending this chaos, this cycle, it seemed the men were fighting a losing battle.

The vision changed, and it showed a girl leaving a port, a girl leaving somewhere that made her terrified. Bran could tell she was scared by how she was breathing. She had done something wrong, terribly wrong and now the world was crashing down around her. He did not know what she had done, but he knew that it had made it more likely for the darkness to come. There was something about her that was familiar, she looked like Arya but was taller and surer of herself than his sister had been. There was a confidence to her and a deadly skill that left him somewhat scared.

The waves crashed around the ship that the girl was on, and she rocked from side to side, her face contorting slightly, but then she straightened and touched the sword at her belt. A sword, his sister had had a sword, but his sister was dead, she had died a long time ago. That was what he knew or thought to be true, he could not see her anywhere he looked. The waves contorted and a beast rose from the sea, Bran wanted to scream at the girl to turn round and look but she did not and before he could see what had happened to her the vision changed once more.

Fire ploughed through the field, the screams of men echoed throughout the ground and the sky. Turning dust into flame, and making men and women alike cry out in anguish. Two beasts danced in the air and screeched at one another battling through the thickness and the dirt of what they had created, and still men and women and children died. Two people, a man and a woman who looked like gods sat atop the dragons one black one green and as they fought the world crumbled around them. The bodies continued to grow, and the world was torn asunder as the two danced through their anger and their rage.

Bran moved in anger at the two destroying his world, and the world shifted and burned. Roads broke, and houses fell, brick fell and people died. More destruction came as a monster from the ground rose its head for the first time in millennia, awakened by what had happened above it. The sky was writ in flame and black smoke. Death was following on black wings, and the dead began to grow and rise as their eyes were turned a pale blue by those things that were unspeakable.

The dream shifted and Bran saw a girl with fiery hair dancing with a falcon, the falcon and the girl were speaking of things that Bran could not hear, nor could he understand. These things were evidently causing the mockingbird some anger, for the bird looked angry, he looked ready to strike. As the dancing stopped, the girl kissed the falcon and then walked away. There was a moment’s pause and then the mockingbird and the falcon spoke, and the mockingbird killed the falcon with a dagger to the heart, in front of a group of what Bran saw to be birds as well. Birds who chirped and sang at the game that had been played, but the girl was nowhere to be seen, she was away riding to the land of wolves.

Wolves, there were two now, a white and a black one, fighting the dead with fierce might, pausing through their fighting to breath and then to tear a new hole into the ground from where the dead roamed. Ravens cawed and men screamed and the dead continued marching. This procession, this dance, was similar to what Bran had seen before, but this time there was something different about it. The wolves seemed to hold more power and it was becoming harder to tell which were dead and which were not. For even the dead seemed to be fighting for and not against the wolves, and that confused Bran.

The pressure on his head was excruciating, and he knew he would soon have to leave, and yet he could not do so, not just yet. He needed to see what happened to the wolves, would they survive or would they be overwhelmed just as their ancestors had been so many years before. The darkness was growing and his head was hurting, and still he watched and waited. Desperate to know what happened, Bran squeezes his eyes shut and watches as it all flashes before him. Man becomes wolf, and wolf becomes man, as the dance of death continues. Something is wrong though, this is not what he has seen before, it always ends the same way, but this time when he looks at it he can feel that the ending will be different. His heart begins to hammer in his chest as the ending draws near, he knows whatever is different he will see it now. As the battle ends he sees his brothers, Jon and Rickon fighting, their eyes blue and red, darkness becomes them.


	19. Confessions of Love

**4 th Month of 301 A.C. Winterfell**

**King Rickon I Stark**

Winterfell, his home, his kingdom, his sanctuary. It was good to be home, so very good to be home. There was nothing like it, his power was growing, the people were bending to his will and slowly but surely the kingdom was coming together, and repairing itself. And then there was Osha, beautiful Osha, the woman he knew was meant for him. He had seen how she had looked at him and he always felt his heart beat quicken when he was with her, and he thought she felt the same as he did, and yet he had seen her with Joramun and that had made him uncertain, he did not want to pursue something that did not work out, he had too much to think about to worry about it.

And yet, worry about it he did. And so that was why he had asked her to come to his room, she looked stunning, absolutely stunning and she was wearing only a simple tunic and breeches. Gods he needed to get this under control, and yet her voice was sultry when she asked. “You wished to see me, Your Grace?”

Rickon frowns slightly. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“Aye you did, but you do not like being called little wolf either, so what am I to call you?” Osha replies back.

“I never said I don’t like being called that, I just prefer being called it, when it is just the two of us.” Rickon says trying not to sound too much like a child and worrying that he is failing.

Osha laughs slightly then, and he feels arousal stirring inside of him. “Oh little wolf, you surely are a king now. Demanding one thing and then asking for another. What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

He knows that he could reprimand her for her tone, but some part of him is massively attracted to her because of that, and as such he does not feel the urge to do such a thing instead he merely asks. “How are you finding Winterfell?”

“It is good, different to Skaagos and my home beyond the wall but good. It is nice having a warm fire and some different clothes to wear each day. And not having to fear for the cold as well. It is good.” Osha replies.

Rickon nods and then asks. “And how do you find the people here? Are they to your liking?”

“The people?” Osha says. “The people are nice enough, they are what they are, and I am what I am. It will take some time but eventually we shall come to know one another.”

Rickon nods. “So you are not missing your life beyond the wall then? Not even one bit?

“What is this about little wolf? Why all the questions? I would have told you if I was not enjoying myself here.” Osha says.

Rickon hesitates for a moment uncertain of how to proceed but eventually just says it. “What are you and Joramun doing? Are you lovers?”

There is a moment’s silence and Rickon knows his face is red, he can feel the heat on his cheeks, and then Osha laughs. “Lovers? Do you honestly think I would chose that hairy old goat? Gods no. I thought you knew me better than that little wolf.”

Rickon stumbles for words for a moment and then says. “Well you are always speaking to him, so I don’t know what to make of that. And you never spend as much as time with me as you used to do.”

Osha looks at him strangely and then she sighs. “That is because you are a king now, and men who wear crowns often have to do many other things than deal with women who are now just nuisances.”

Rickon goes to protest, saying that she is not a nuisance but he knows deep down that she will not believe him unless he shows her, and so taking a deep breath he moves toward her and then crushes her to him, turning her face up and kissing her fiercely. She responds almost immediately, kissing him back with just as much passion as he is kissing her, they kiss and their tongues meet in a heated dance, running over one another again and again until they are both groaning with pleasure.

They pull apart briefly to tear one another’s clothes off of one another, and then they return to their heated kissing. His arousal is most evident he knows, but it seems that Osha does not mind for she begins grinding herself against his arousal in his breeches and then against his cock when his breeches are freed. Suddenly he is in her and gods, she feels good, so very good. He looks at her a moment and sees nothing but love in her eyes, and so their dance begins, tongues lapping against one another, dancing and twisting, he thrusts in and out of her, guided by her moans and groans.

Again and again he thrusts into her, groaning with pleasure as he does so, she feels so good around his cock. This is a new feeling for him, something he has been waiting for, for so very long, he has only now realised what it was he was waiting for. When he comes, he does it with a groan and he touches her forehead with his own, and whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Osha kisses him and then says. “Don’t be. We’re not finished yet.”

And with that she pushes him down to where her folds are still wet dripping with his seed, and with her instruction he begins kissing her there, licking and kissing, tugging and pulling, as he does this he feels her hands pulling on his hair, he looks up at her his mouth wet slightly, grinning and then goes back to his work. When she orgasms she does so with a mighty scream and then he leans up and kisses her breasts and then her mouth, content with the world.

* * *

 

**Osha**

She wakes as the light begins to show through, blinking slightly she looks to her left and sees her little wolf sleeping soundly his arm around her a smile on his face. He looks so very handsome like this, with the worries of all that has come before and still to come gone from him for the nonce. She smiles slightly at the thought of him last night, as he was fucking her, he looked every inch the king, that he would think her not in love with him after all they had gone through is something that confuses her. But it is alright now, he is with her and she with him and that is all that matters.

“Are you enjoying the view my lady?” her king’s voice asks taking her away from her thoughts.

Osha looks at him is form fully visible to her and grins. “Why yes I am little wolf, and I think were anyone else in my place they would do as well.” To emphasize her point she leans down and kisses her way down to his cock which is already growing hard.

Her king groans then his hands fisting in her hair. “Gods Osha, you will be the death of me.”

She looks up at him then and says. “Well at least you will die happy my king.”

He pulls her to him then and kisses her square on the lips. “I would rather not die at all if it meant I could not be with you.”

She nods. “And I you my king.”

They are both silent then, just looking at one another, appreciating one another for who and what they are, Osha has never felt so content before, and she knows that she would burn the world for her little wolf. Eventually she asks. “Do you have to go and see the red woman?”

She regrets asking the question almost as soon as she does so, for her king’s face turns serious then. “I must do so, I must ensure that she does not try anything again. She almost had Jon the last time we went to see her. She cannot work on me, and so she must die.”

Osha looks at him then and asks. “Must you go alone? Can I not go with you?”

Rickon shakes his head. “No my love, you must remain away from her. I do not trust her, and I would not lose you. Not to her, not to anyone or anything.”

She takes his hand then and says. “I am a northwoman not some dainty southerner, I know the old magics, she cannot work her magic on me. And if she even tries to I will kill her.”

Her king is silent a long time then considering, before he eventually sighs and says. “Very well, let us get dressed and then proceed from there shall we? But if something bad happens we shall be leaving immediately.”

With that they both get up and get dressed, she takes great pride in how Rickon keeps coming back to her, holding her and kissing her, she is not normally the most feeling type person and yet there is something about Rickon that makes her like this. Gods she does not want anything bad to happen to him, and she swears that should anything happen to him she will kill all those who dare get in her way. Once they are changed they walk out of his room, Shaggydog, the great black direwolf following at her side. They walk down to the cells where the red woman is being kept and as they stand there looking at her, Osha feels a chill going through her body.

The woman speaks then. “So you have come have you wolf of the night? Bringing with you your Nissa Nissa? An interesting choice.”

Osha looks at her love and sees his face drawn taut. “Enough of this nonsense, speak clearly, and speak truly. Where are the rest of your order?” her love asks.

“They are not here, they were to come when Stannis was ready, but now they shall come with the dragons for the world is dark now that you live.” The red woman says.

“What is that supposed to mean?” her love asks. “There are no more dragons they all died out many years ago.”

The red woman moves forward then and says. “You know that is a lie, I know you know my king, for there is a darkness but there is light inside within you, and that light is calling towards them, drawing them toward you. There will be not enough time for you to find true purpose in your life.”

Osha notices that the red woman is drawing nearer, she moves her hands toward her dagger keeping an eye on the woman as her love speaks. “You speak nonsense woman. You cannot see past the lies that your red teachers have taught you. You are failing to see through the haze that has been created by this. You are nothing more than a mere puppet.”

The red woman chuckles then. “You are nothing other than an instrument of the great other, boy. You are nothing, nothing but a pawn for them and their devices. You will fall before you see the light and when you do, nothing will save you from the darkness you have brought upon yourself. There is nothing here for you, or for anyone but death.”

Her love grows angry at this and begins moving toward the red woman, and Osha moves as well for she sense that this is what the whore wants. She speaks then. “You cannot truly believe any of this nonsense. There is not god of fire, there is no god of ice, there are only the old gods, and they are the ones who can save this kingdom and this world that stems from it.”

As the red woman comes forward ever closer toward the bars of her cell, Osha begins moving her dagger forth from her belt and when the red whore speaks, Osha knows what is going to be next. In one quick motion she has moved across protecting her love from the whore and has slit the whore’s throat, as the whore slumps Osha looks at Rickon and merely smiles.


	20. Return

**4 th Month of 301 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Jon Stark**

It was good to be back home, this was his home, he was certain of it, and though there were a few little things that troubled Jon, such as those thralls his brother kept, overall he was happy to be home. But now he was frustrated once more, for his brother was proving to be very unreasonable. There was much that still needed to be done here in Winterfell, and yet it seemed his brother had grown impatient waiting for it to be done and was now determined to leave for the next battle. “Surely it is better for you remain here Your Grace? We cannot afford to lose you now, now that you are finally sat in Winterfell.” Jon says.

His brother snorts. “The lords will stand by what I say, you know this Jon, my powers are growing stronger by the day, and there is no reason for me to remain here when the true threat continues to marshal itself in the further north.”

Jon grits his teeth for a moment and then says. “And yet that is the one thing that worries me the most Your Grace. Your powers whilst useful are not natural. How do you know that what you ride to face up north does not simply stop you from being as effective? You know of how the wall nearly crumbled when they attacked that first time. Why risk yourself now?”

His brother looks at him his eyes hard. “Because they hold Bran and I shall not allow them to keep our brother for so long. We are Starks, we are the ones they fear, it is only right that we break them then and there.”

Jon sighs. “And what of Winterfell? There are still threats to us in the south. The Freys would have heard of what became of their kin here by now, what is there stopping them from turning on us and marching north? As unlikely as it is that they might succeed?”

His brother smiles then. “They will have their own concerns and worries. We are nothing to them, compared to the storm that is coming their way. And besides if anything, the war in the north will give our men greater unity. There will be no time for the Umbers or the wildlings to begin fretting over past grievances if they are more concerned with staying alive.”

Jon has to admit that that is a sound plan. Still there is something nagging him. “What makes you think the free folk shall hold should they come across walking death itself? They fled from it once before, they might do so before. For all their talk of being stronger in their nerve than us, they do flee easily enough.”

Rickon snorts then. “Aye they might flee, but their pride should keep them in check should it not? After all none of them will want to look weak in front of their king and their fellow kinsmen. If anything this should give us a chance to decide whether or not they will work for us in the north.”

Jon wants to bring up his brother’s apparent power over the dead, but he is not quite sure how to go about it so instead he brings up another pressing topic. “It is all well and good planning all of this Your Grace, but should you die, then we will have more chaos. The north is not completely secure, and a marriage must needs be arranged so that an heir may be sired.”

His brother’s face curls into a look of displeasure. “I intend to marry Osha, and you know that brother. It is a smart move, as it means the wildlings are finally part of the realm, and besides there is no one I would rather have as my queen than her. She is the only one deserving of that title.”

“I know that you feel strongly for her, but would it not be better to look elsewhere for a marriage? To someone such as Val who the wildlings follow, or even toward someone such as Wynafryd Manderly? Osha has no solid pull with the free folk. There would be talk.” Jon says.

“No. Val is not the one, she holds pull over some, and yet the free folk follow Osha, for they know they can do well under her. Even my own lords know that Osha is not someone to mess with. She will be a great queen, and that is what the north needs. Someone who can fight and pick up the pieces once all is said and done. There will be no time for any of this foolish southerness once the dark is done.” Rickon argues.

Jon would argue but looking at his brother he suspects he would not get very far and so instead he asks. “What do you intend to do with the Baratheons and Ser Davos? The red woman is dead, and Selyse is dead, and yet Stannis and Shireen live. The longer you keep the man alive, the more chance people will have to wonder if you have grown faint of heart.”

His brother’s face contorts into a snarl, making him look wolf like. “I will not allow that to come to pass. Baratheon will be used to tempt the enemy towards us on the march north. I will not allow him to continue staining Winterfell with his mere presence. That is not something I want. As for Lady Shireen, she shall remain a hostage here for some more time. When the south is cleared of that mess I might well return her there. If not she shall remain here.”

“And what of Ser Davos? The man was only doing his king’s bidding. He does not deserve too much harsh punishment for doing that.” Jon argues.

“Ser Davos will remain as Shireen’s guardian and should he even attempt to free her they shall both be killed. There is no chance that I am allowing them to leave now. They are far too useful here, they keep certain southern influences here under check and as such that is the way I shall proceed.” His brother and king replies.

* * *

 

**The Gates of The Moon**

**Princess Sansa Stark**

She was a woman wed, married to Harrold Hardying heir to the Vale and recently knighted a member of the Winged Knights, married in the Sept of the Gates of the Moon, as well as in front of a small heart tree as well. Saying the vows, she remembers her first wedding, and how uncomfortable she had been with it then. How Petyr had managed to convince everyone that her first husband was dead she did not know, but he had and so the marriage to Harry had gone ahead. As such it was alright, but there was a certain sense of happiness missing from it, and she supposed that there was no point wondering why, perhaps she was destined not to know happiness from her own marriage?

“Are you well my princess?” her husband asks. His breath smelling slightly of wine.

“I am well enough thank you my lord. And are you? You do not seem to have touched your wine for a long time. Why is that?” she asks.

Her husband chuckles slightly. “I wish to be sober enough to make the order when the time comes. I cannot afford to be seen as being drunk off of my arse when it occurs.”

Sansa nods. “A smart move my lord, for Baelish is certain to try and use whatever he can against us when the time comes. Already he looks distant and brooding. He knows something is amiss.”

Her husband looks at her then and she feels something stir inside her. “Do you think he knows of the plan directly?”

Sansa shakes her head. “No, he is not that good. We have been very careful to ensure that nothing comes leaking through the cracks.”

Her husband nods and says. “Then I shall rest for a time, for soon enough we must needs make our move no?”

Before Sansa can respond, there is a call for silence and she sees Lord Nestor Royce, as host of the wedding stand up. “I must say that today has been a day for the ages. A wedding the likes of which the Vale has not seen since Lord Jasper Arryn wed his beautiful bride all those many years ago. Truly, I and my family are honoured to have hosted such a beautiful event. And we thank Lord Baelish and Princess Sansa for allowing us to do so.” There are murmurs of approval at this and then he continues. “My family and I wish you the best of health and happiness Princess in your marriage to Ser Harrold. I know you will be very happy in your future endeavours.”

More murmurs of approval and then Petyr stands up. “A sincerer toast of thanks you will never hear anywhere else. Thank you Lord Nestor for being the gracious host and allowing us to invade your home. This is something that not many others would do, especially during this long winter. We have seen and done many things to get to this place, and now we are here. Princess, it has been a blessing to know you and to fight for you. Today is just the beginning of a new adventure.” Petyr pauses for a moment and takes a deep sip of wine, he looks calm and composed but Sansa can tell there are cracks beginning to appear. His glass is raised somewhat sloppily as he continues. “You are a true beauty my princess, more beautiful than your mother and the queens. You are truly deserving of all the accolades and compliments that come your way. You will flourish and turn the north into a place of paradise and not a frozen wasteland. I envy Ser Harrold, and yet I am proud of you.”

There are some odd looks being thrown around now, and Sansa senses that now is her chance, and so she stands and says. “Thank you my lord Baelish, and thank you my lord of Royce. It has been very agreeable to me this time in the Vale, learning more of my father and his childhood, as well as learning more of the south and that not all southerners are without honour or sense.” There is a roar of approval at this and then she continues. “And Petyr, thank you for rescuing me from the clutches of the lions. I do not know what I would have done without your help there. More than likely I would be as dead as Tyrion Lannister is now, but it does not do to dwell on the past. Unless there is reason for it.”

People are beginning to talk now at the sudden turn this conversation has taken, and at a look to her husband who merely nods, she sees men moving into place across the hall, preparing for her next words. “There are things that I have learned here in the Vale under you Petyr that shock me, and worry me. That you could be so willing to commit such heinous acts in your search for power sickens me and has made me realise you are not the man I thought you were.”

There are stunned whispers and Sansa is relieved to see men walking towards Baelish and his allies their swords being undrawn. Baelish himself looks composed. “I do not know what you speak of princess.”

“I speak of your complicity in the murder of Jon Arryn something the Lady Lysa admitted to before you killed her yourself through throwing her from the Moon Door, I speak of your plot to have Ser Harrold killed once our marriage was consummated so that you might try to insert yourself into a position of power. I speak of your betrayal of my father in King’s Landing, and how you have always and will always be a Lannister dog.” Sansa snarls.

A cry of outrage goes up in the hall at this and Baelish himself looks stunned. “You speak wrongly princess. All that was done, was done for your benefit. With your complicity.”

Her husband stands up then and shouts over the din. “Guards seize this man and take him to the cells. We shall not allow his lies to spread further.” As the din continues to grow louder men from House Royce and House Waynwood seize Baelish and drag him away, Sansa looks at him and smiles at his downfall.


	21. Trial

**5 th Month of 301 A.C. The Gates of the Moon**

**Princess Sansa Hardying**

There was chaos and commotion in the gates of the moon as the trial was brought to order. It had been almost a week since her marriage to Harry and in that time, Baelish’s conspirators were brought in and charged and executed, the judges, headed by Lord Yohn Royce were sparing no expense, and though Sansa was glad for that, it did make her wonder if they would treat her the same. She did not know how they had gotten men like Lyn Corbray to speak but they had, and so she was worried that somehow she would be incriminated, even though Harry and Lord Nestor assured her she would not be.

She pushed her doubts to the side for now as she stood before the judges and the court and spoke. “I Princess Sansa Stark nee Hardying, do hereby swear by the old gods and the new that I speak nothing but the truth. If I should be found in contempt then I do hereby give the judges the right to sentence me as they see fit.” Lowering her hand she looks at Yohn Royce who merely nods, and she begins. “The accused Lord Petyr Baelish, conspired with his future wife, the Lady Lysa Arryn to murder her husband Lord Jon Arryn. For what gain I do not know, but the Lady Lysa admitted to doing the deed on Baelish’s orders right before he killed her. And after the fact I asked him about this, and he indeed did admit to doing so, though again he did not say why.”

Baelish speaks then. “A lie, the girl was in shock from what she had just witnessed.”

“Silence.” Yohn Royce bellows. He looks at her and says. “Continue Princess.”

Sansa nods and says. “I was indeed in shock, for the Lady Lysa had just tried to kill me, no doubt thinking I was trying to steal her husband away from her. Something which is a deep falsehood. Lord Baelish kissed me, I did not kiss him. And he killed Lysa when he thought her of no more use to him. After her death he resumed his plotting, he began by undermining the powers of the Lords of the Vale and by placing more power into his own person through acting as Lord Robert’s regent. The buying off of debt and the storage of food stuffs, gave him a strong hold over the lords of the Vale during the winter he told me, and ensured they would be nothing but loyal to him.”

“Lies, she speaks terrible lies.” Baelish shouts.

“Lord Baelish you shall have your turn to speak. But for now be quiet!” Yohn Royce snaps. The man falls silent then, and Lord Royce turns and nods at her.

She continues. “He told me of how he was planning on marrying me off to Ser Harrold and then revealing who I truly was. He wished to use Ser Harrold as a way to rally the Vale to my cause in attempting to retake Winterfell and the north from the Boltons. Of course, for this to work he needed Lord Robert to be dead and indeed planned to have him killed shortly after my wedding to Ser Harrold. Maester Coleman’s testimony yesterday concurs with mine.” There are cries of outrage at this and she sees anger and betrayal and perhaps even desire in Baelish’s eyes when she looks at him, she shakes her head slightly and then goes on. “He also planned to have Ser Harrold killed shortly afterwards as well, for he hoped that upon the consummation of my marriage, I would be with child, and that from there he would be able to exercise full control.”

A outcry comes from this as many lords and ladies speak in anger. Lord Yohn bellows for quiet and then says. “These are deep and cutting accusations to make my princess, do you have proof of them?”

Sansa nods and says. “I have written evidence of what Lord Baelish was planning. The accounts he kept and the letters he wrote he showed me, and asked me to keep a copy of should something happen to him.” As she says this, a servant hands these letters to Lord Royce and his fellow judges.

There is a hushed silence as all wait for Lord Royce to speak. After he has finished reading through the letters, and his fellow judges have done so as well he does speak and his tone is ominous. “These letters are not forgeries I hope my princess?”

“Of course not, these are the real documents, writ in his hand.” Sansa replies.

There is a lot of murmuring in the room at this and Lord Royce looks solemn when he speaks. “The letters I hold in my hand are proof that Lord Baelish has been conspiring against us and Lord Robert from the very moment he arrived here. We have heard condemning testimony from a variety of witnesses, both those who worked alongside and for Baelish and those who worked under him. Now all that remains is to hear what the man himself has to say. Lord Baelish how do you plead?”

The man looks solemn and foreboding and then bursts out laughing. “I will not deign to give you an answer. I know how this will end. For I orchestrated many such things during my time here. You will all find me guilty and my work will come to an end. Do what must be done, but remember it is I who gave the ladder a good shaking. None of you ever did.”

There is outcry at this and one man, Sansa thinks it is Lord Melcolm roars. “You are nothing more than an up jumped sellsword’s get. You are nothing. We are one of the oldest regions in Westeros, and have long held places of power where it has mattered. You tried to corrupt us and have failed.”

Before Baelish can respond, Lord Royce bellows. “Enough! Do you have anything more to say Lord Baelish?”

“No.” the man says curtly.

“Then in the name of Lord Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and the Vale, and King of the Mountain, I do hereby declare your life forfeit. Guards take him to the gallows.” Lord Royce says his voice filled with power.

Sansa watches as Baelish is dragged from the hall and as soon as he is out of the doors she joins the procession that follows. Walking out onto the cold snow covered ground, she watches as the man is tied to the noose, his rights read to him and his final words taken. She watches motionless as the noose is raised and then lowered and his body swings lifelessly from it. for the first time in nearly a year, Sansa Stark smiles.

* * *

 

**Ser Brynden Tully**

It had been a long ride toward the Vale, snow littered the ground and they had to constantly duck down into the undergrowth to ensure that Lannister or Frey patrols did not find them. The luck of the gods was with them though for they were never seen or found and so they had arrived at the Bloody Gate to find it preparing for war, it seemed things had advanced at a far quicker pace than Brynden had ever anticipated. He had been presented to Cat’s daughter and found himself thinking he was looking at her ghost, so similar had the resemblance been, but there was an icy façade there as well, a glint of separation that spoke of her northern roots, and it showed now during this war council.

“We will destroy any who get into our way, the sea is the one of the surer ways to get to the north, and White Harbour will open its gates once it receives word. As will Winterfell, but first and foremost we must deal with the riverlands, that kingdom is in turmoil dirt and vermin roam its lands, and I will not allow that.” His niece and Princess says.

“What do you suggest then my princess? For the armies of the Vale are at your call as are the men of the riverlands.” Lord Lymond asks.

The princess looks at the map before them and then says. “If it is advisable I will split the forces of the Vale in half some under the command of Lord Nestor shall go into the Riverlands, whilst the rest shall come north with my husband and myself.”

“Has King Robert given his acceptance of this plan princess?” Lord Piper asks.

His niece nods. “He has, he wants revenge just as much as I do, and regardless he is as much a brother to me as the king in Winterfell is. We are family and we work together not against one another, we are not Lannisters.”

There is a murmur of approval at this, and Brynden speaks. “Truer words were never spoken. But there remains the issue, even if we ride into the Riverlands, there will be armies from the capital there waiting for us no doubt, and we do not have the complete strength to outdo them, therefore we must look toward using the same tactics the Dornish used against the reachmen for centuries. This will require co-operation amongst the other lords something which will require the Freys to fall.”

His niece looks at him a moment and then says. “The Freys, they are one of the top families that will suffer for what they have done, but for now there are still the Brackens that must needs be dealt with. Only then can we turn our eyes northward to the Twins.”

Brynden nods. “That is smart thinking my princess, the Brackens will have their allies as will the Freys, cutting them off from one another is a sure fire way to ensure that they do not work together. What do you intend to do once in the north?”

Here his niece looks hesitant and then she says. “I will aid my brothers. There is something north of the neck that is a threat to us all and I intend to aid them as best I can.”

The girl’s husband speaks up in support of this. “It will be a noble deed to fight whatever ails the north and a sure fire way to ensure that our alliance remains lasting. The iron throne’s hold over us is breaking and with this alliance it will be broken for good.”

“What of the Riverlands though?” Lord Lymond asks. “They were part of the Young Wolf’s Kingdom as well, will they become part of the Vale or the Black Wolf’s kingdom? And if so how can we be sure that we shall have adequate protection from the Lannisters and the Tyrells?”

“An interesting question and one that has no solid answer my lord,” his niece says. “I shall not lie to you, I am not sure it would be advisable for the Riverlands to become part of either kingdom for there would be much that would need to be fixed. The Lannisters and the Tyrells will not have the strength to come into the Riverlands though once they are finished fighting one another as well as the dragons.”

“So we are to put our hopes in pure chance then?” Lymond asks disbelievingly. “We are to pray to gods whose existence I have begun to question that the Lannisters and the Tyrells do not look toward us and think to exact revenge for aiding you? I do not know whether this is madness or not.”

“It is the only plausible course of action Lymond,” Brynden says. “We cannot expend all of our resources when we do not know whether or not they need to be used. We must keep some in reserve for this is a winter that has dragons within it. We must keep an eye on what comes from all of this. Only once we are sure can we advance through the grounds and necessary preparation.”

The man does look somewhat placated by this but there is still a sense of unease amongst the rivermen. The princess must sense this for she says. “I know your worries and that they are justified my lords, but you must see why securing the kingdom and the north for now is more important than deciding on rudimentary matters such as the borders right now. The Lannisters and the Tyrells are dividing amongst one another, and the dragons are landing fighting one another also. We must ensure that there is no hole exposed yes, and to do that we must secure ourselves first.”

There are murmurs of approval then and the princess’s husband speaks. “What my princess says is right. We must secure ourselves first before we worry about the details of the kingdoms. There is a chance for us all to share in the spoils and allow our enemies to weaken one another to the extent that they have nothing left to fight with.”


	22. War

**8 th Month of 301 A.C. The Wall**

**King Rickon I Stark**

It was cold, very, very cold, and yet the cold did nothing to him, if anything he felt more alive because of it. There were hordes upon hordes of dead things and white walkers streaming towards him and yet he was not cold or even afraid, he was alive. The wall had been breached by the time the northern forces had arrived and so the slaughter had already begun. The former night’s watch was severely depleted, and so the carnage had well and truly begun. He would not lie to himself he was enjoying this, the fighting, the chaos and the blood, it was making him feel alive, alive in a way he only felt whilst being with Osha.

They had consummated their relationship and were now together for good, at least he hoped so, she was giving him the strength to continue raising his sword as the dead came. Dragon glass found underneath the wall had been turned into weapons and the push was continuing. His sword swung and stung his arm and his very being but the enemy fell down, and more came to take its place. He swung his sword, and more fell, his power was growing he could feel it, and yet there was more to be done, more that needed to be done and so the push continued. Swinging his sword, slashing and hacking, ducking, the surge, the pain all of it earns him more notches and crevices.

The snow and the ground they are one and the same as the masses keep turning and churning. More people die and some rise for him and others for the white walkers. Death walks amongst them, taking his pick of the lot, and turning them into the monsters that fight for the mortal and the immortal. His blood sings, and he keeps an eye on where Osha is fighting by someone else’s side, they push and they sting and they fight and they dance, and the white walkers continue on their relentless surge. It seems to be tiring and still they continue, onward and onward, until the blur becomes that and much more, his arms ache but his strength still flows.

The wind whips around him, and the darkness howls through the wind, his blood is pumping furiously in his chest and his skin, and his blood sings at the thought of more death. His life has come down to this, this fight for survival bloodied and broken, carnage that lives on deaths wings. He fights forward and pushes forward, surging with his men, screaming a defiant battle cry as his men and the thralls under his control push into the great beyond shattering the skies and the ground and the wall. Death comes to greet them and falters at their presence, his mind is awash with the songs of old, the songs his mother and his sister used to sing to him. They fly through his mind and give him voice to continue forward. They reach through the darkness and give light.

Onward the push continues swinging and slashing, chaos, pure and simple, his sword is still going strong, glowing in the bright light, onward it leads them through the darkness, and through to the light. Shaggydog howls somewhere in the midst of it all, the blood that came from Stannis Baratheon and his red whore has galvanized the men the drinking of dragon blood doing as the gods said it would. They are stronger now than they were and the fighting continues. The white walkers are falling down to their knees, crying out in pain, turning back into the humans they once were, the wights are turning on one another, breaking their codes of secret silence, destroying themselves to pieces. As more men die, they rise and either fight for him or the enemy, there is no middle ground in this conflict, the men are scared but they fight onward for his power is great over them. His mind is whirring with the power of the magic he is using, his strength begins to falter but he does not stop. He continues and fights onward.

The wights are failing now, failing to keep their momentum going, failing to allow themselves a chance at respite, it seems they know nothing more than the senseless destruction that they have been taught to bring. He destroys them with a wave of his hand or a waft of his sword and the fighting still goes on, his head aches with the sound of pounding hooves and the screams of the dead and undead. His mind aches, and whirs, and he continues through the dust covered fields. Fighting through it all, snow and death mingle, a salty tang to it all, they continue through it, and struggle toward the end.

The final push comes and they draw nearer to where the wights and the white walkers had breached the wall and so now they fight with more intensity. Both sides are determined to win, they shall now falter, neither shall falter whilst their kings fight alongside them. Rickon knows that the king of death is somewhere here, he can feel it inside of him and so he pushes and roars and his men follow. They continue through the frenzy and the insanity until it is just the two of them, man and death, stalking one another before the blows are exchanged. They spin and turn until there is little but a gap between them, and so their dance resumes. Swing, block, swing, hack, cut, wince, cry and scream. These are all things that Rickon knows well, but he will not allow them to break him. They become part of the routine and yet they are not all that needs to be done, there is a mental battle being fought as well between him and the king of death, this mind his familiar to him he pushes and surges and twists and turns, gritting his teeth as death seeks to control him. Just as he drives the force from his mind and yet is shocked to see that it is Bran who lives in the man’s body, when death screams and dies, he knows they are near to winning.

* * *

 

**Brandon Stark**

He saw the battle from the bird’s eyes, it was chaos. There were men fighting and dying, screaming for relief and then rising again their eyes as blue as his mother’s had been. It made no sense to him there was a wolf there fighting for victory and salvation and there was death fighting as well. He did not know what to make of it, only that something was going to happen, there was something else going on here, and he did not know what it was, and it terrified him. Brandon Stark continued watching even though he knew he would have to leave soon enough, there were other things that were needed for him to do.

Bran changes from the mind of the crow to the wolf who is with the fighters, stalking their movements, he knows the name of the wolf, and its name is Summer, but he does not know its association with him or how he can do this. And yet the wolf fights for either side tearing chunks out of men living and dead, and dancing through the combat as if nothing is more for him. That is until a big black wolf comes barrelling down toward him fighting and howling its displeasure, anger boils inside of him and they fight, rolling and tumbling, claws and teeth being used to extract a powerful hold, he fights and swings and they twist and turn until he feels teeth biting into his neck turning him inside out and then they disappear and his mind vanishes for a moment.

He wakes in the cave, the three eyed crow is disappearing behind the trees once more, fading from life, Meera is nowhere to be found and Jojen, he has not seen Jojen since he ate that paste. He looks around and the children are gone, doing something or the other that he does not know. He closes his eyes as the pull of sleep returns to him and dreams once more. This time he is in the midst of battle, fighting as a man determined to do duty for the king, and to serve with honour, he fights and fights and pain comes but he ignores it and continues fighting. There will be no death for him today, only honour and glory, those are the things he treasures, they are what his father taught him and they are the things he wants. And yet the pain comes and death does as well a crown is placed atop his head and the rage of being robbed of life comes back with him his eyes dark as his heart. And so the years turn by and his mind warps until the darkness fills it completely, there is no place for love in him, he has lost all he thought was worth living for, why should they have it? Why should they have that which he could not? His anger sees him kill and turn into a monster until he finds her one day, she talks to him sweetly and convinces him to come with her to a cave, a cave where there is darkness and a three eyed man dancing in the sunlight and the dark. Together they plot their redemption and their time to retake the kingdom that was stolen from them.

His mind turns the visions into black and then he comes to through the ages as the plans were made and turned into fruition the lines of his loins continued until one day there was nothing left but southerners and his anger at that boils. Bran feels physical sick as he looks at what his children have become, the girl whispers that it will be alight, that when they come south they shall take all that is right and turn it back to how it was supposed to be. His anger cools but his disappointment remains and he begins planning for a new destruction, he will remove the stain of arrogance that has infected his line and make them whole again. the years turn by and then the wall, that cursed place that abandoned him and his queen comes back to him and they plan and plot against the bastard and he whispers to them, and talks to them and they do as he has bid.

Then the wolf comes and the black one screams at him and the betrayal stings harder than any he has ever known, and they fight. They cross blades, this boy who looks like someone he knew once long ago, they clash and fight and their swords wound one another. Darkness engulfs them both as they fight for their destinies and their fates, and still they continue. The boy is strong he will give him that, whether he truly knows how strong he is or what to do with that power he does not know, and so he uses his mind to probe and to see whether or not the boy knows whether or he can break the boy to his will, and if he can how far he can go. The boy is stronger than he thought, and he manages to push him out after a struggle, his mind is worn, his body aches and yet he knows the boy now and his heart is racing, he thought him dead, he thought him evil. Brandon Stark is shocked by what he has seen and in his shock he kills more men and women than he has ever done before. And this causes him to fly into a panic, the destruction increases until he feels steel against his throat and the darkness engulfs him.

Bran’s eyes fly open then, his heart is hammering in his chest, his breathing is heavy, he does not know what he has seen but it is clear that something wrong has happened. Where was he? Was he inside the enemy or was he the enemy? He does not know, his breathing is harsh and fast. He looks around and when he sees Meera he calls to her and she comes running. “We need to leave, right now.” He says hurriedly. “Before they come back, we must leave.”


	23. Home

**10 th Month of 301 A.C. Winterfell**

**Prince Jon Stark**

The days were short and the nights long, snow covered the ground and yet it was not cold. Not as cold as it had been once before, Jon suspected that had something to do with what was going on at the wall. Word had not come frequently from his brother on this matter, and yet Jon knew he would feel something if Rickon were dead they all would. There was no true way to explain it but they were all linked to Rickon and so if he should fall then they would all be in danger, for he was their last hope, and without him, there was nothing more for them to do.

As it were the raven that had finally come from the wall carried tidings, which Sam said were good. “A letter from the king my prince,” the half maester said. “It seems that the storms have cleared enough for safer travel of birds.”

Jon took the letter and read it hungry for news whilst the rest of his brother’s advisors sat in waiting. He laughed a joyous laugh then and smiled. He put the letter down and looked at the rest of the men. “Rickon has won a great battle at the wall my lords. It would seem the White Walkers and their leader have been destroyed.”

There is silence for a moment and then the lords all cheer. “This is wonderful news my prince.” Lord Wyman says.

“It is bloody brilliant news.” Mors Umber bellows.

“It is good news, and deserves true celebration.” Lady Cerwyn declares.

“How did the king manage to defeat the white walkers my prince?” Lord Wyman asks, “Does he say how?”

Jon looks down at the letter and then looks back up. “He says it took him a long time, but through force of will and men as well as the force of arms he managed to break them and send them scattering. They managed to kill the last one, their leader it seems at the ruined fist of the first men.”

“This is very good news my prince. Very good news. Will the king be returning shortly then?” Lord Wyman asks.

Jon looks down at the letter and shakes his head. “It appears not. It seems that some other business beyond the wall has caught his attention. It seems that the true enemy was not the white walkers but their masters and they reside beyond the wall.”

“There is something worse than those things of death?” Lord Wyman asks fearfully.

“It would seem so, and it seems the king is determined to destroy them whatever they maybe so that they might not come south ever.” Jon says seriously.

“The king is wise to do so, and should he need more aid, then we have the men required, especially with Princess Sansa and her husband and the strength of the Vale due to arrive any day now. We shall have more than enough men and arms to deal with whatever sinister things might lurk beyond the wall.” Lord Wyman says.

“What do you intend to do with the Princess and her men when she arrives here?” Mors Umber asks.

Jon considers this for a moment and then says. “They shall be housed accordingly, and if they must needs camp in Winterfell then they shall camp in Winterfell, or the surrounding lands, there is not much more that can be done about it. They have come as allies and as allies and kin they shall be treated.”

Silence follows this statement and then Lady Jonella asks. “Was the Princess not married to the imp? If so how can she now be married to Ser Harrold, has there ever been any true confirmation of her first’s husband’s death?”

“Princess Sansa was told of her husband’s death by a man who had no reason to lie to her, it would seem, and as Lord Tyrion has not come forward to stake his claim to her hand, then there is no reason to disbelieve her when she says he is dead. Her marriage to Ser Harrold is perfectly binding and legal and as such there should be no problems with it.” Jon says.

“And what of news from the south my prince? The Tullys and the Valemen are wreaking havoc on the Freys, the Brackens and the Lannisters, they have sent word asking us for aid. What do you wish to respond with?” Lord Wyman asks.

Jon considers this a moment and then says. “We cannot send men south. Not now, not with winter here and all of this going on. We must keep our men in the north for who knows when the king might call for us to arrive and give him service. No we remain here. Though I would like to know more of what occurs in the capital.”

Lord Wyman is silent a moment and then responds. “The Tyrells and the Lannisters have formally broken their alliance, there is fighting going on in the streets of King’s Landing, the Targaryen boy who claims to be Prince Rhaegar’s son is causing chaos in the Stormlands and the Reach with aid from Dorne, and Euron Greyjoy continues to wreak havoc everywhere he  goes. I would say that there is no risk of any of these factions looking towards attacking us at any point now.”

Jon nods and says. “And yet the Riverlands will remain under threat with what they are doing. No, we cannot send men south but that does not mean we cannot aid them from here. Send word to the cranongmen to cause distractions for the Freys in the Neck that should make it far easier for the Riverlords to do what they need to do.”

Lord Wyman nods and then asks. “And what of the issue of the free folk, some have died in the war to the north and others are now settling down in the gift. Has the king agreed to this?”

Jon presents the decree that his brother gave him before he left and says. “He has agreed to it and allowed for his royal seal to be given.”

Before anyone else can speak there is a knock on the door and Satin walks in and whispers in his ear. “There is a girl at the gates riding a nearly dead horse claiming to be your sister my prince. She claims to be Arya Stark.”

* * *

 

**Princess Arya Stark**

The gate was raised, and she spurred her horse through, Winterfell looked different to how she remembered it. But then she supposed that was what happened when someone burned your castle. Anger at the Boltons and Theon reared its head once more before she carefully shut it down. The journey from Braavos on that ship had been long and hard, and more than once Arya had thought she would die. She kept seeing things that made her question her sanity, but eventually they had arrived in White Harbour’s port and she had left and gotten on the first horse she could find and ridden out as if she was being chased. And now someone moon later she was home, she had been trying to get home from the time father had been killed in King’s Landing and now she was.

Jon was waiting for her, Ghost by his side, she stopped her horse and jumped off and threw herself into his arms. She was dirty and her face was battered she knew, but when Jon wrapped his arms around her, and held her tightly to him, she knew that she was home and that she was safe. She looked up at him tears in her eyes and said. “I missed you.”

Her brother looks down at her and smiles. “I missed you as well little sister.” She shivers then and he lets go of her briefly, “You are cold, come inside and we can talk then.” And with that he gives her his arm and she willingly takes it and together they walk inside the castle, it is only when she enters that she sees how many people are there looking at her on bended knee. Her brother looks at her and winks. “The Princess Arya Stark has returned good people and now one more of the pack has come back.”

There are cheers then and Arya blushes slightly. “When did you become so formal?”

Her brother laughs then and says. “Ever since our brother named me a prince. That’s when.”

She looks at him a moment and then whispers. “Is it true then? Is Rickon alive?”

Jon nods. “He is, he’s away fighting right now though, but he will be home soon.”

“How can he be fighting? He’s only a baby.” She says incredulously.

Her brother stops walking then and pulls her to the side and says. “He’s not anymore Arya, something happened to him on Skaagos, he changed, he’s now a man grown though there are times when I think he is no better than a boy. But he is our king now and he has managed to defeat a great threat to us.”

Her head is spinning slightly at the thought but that catches her attention. “So Rickon defeated the white walkers? That’s why they called him the wolf of the night.”

Her brother looks at her a moment and asks. “Who called him that? Where did you hear that Arya?”

Arya hesitates then, biting her lip, uncertain of how much to say. “In Braavos, there were some people I knew who used to speak about someone called the Wolf of the Night and all the great deeds he did. I was no sure who they were speaking of.”

“You were in Braavos? What in the name of all that is holy were you doing in Braavos Arya?” Jon asks her surprised.

“I WAS TRYING TO GET HOME!” She shouts, and then at the look on her brother’s face feels sorry for doing so. “I was trying to get home.” She says more softly. “After father died everything went wrong, no matter how long I tried to get home something always went wrong. I ended up in Braavos, but I was outside the Twins when Robb and mother were killed. I was so close, I could have helped them, I could have saved them.”

She hates how tears start falling down her face but when Jon pulls her into his chest and whispers. “You couldn’t have done anything. It was not your fault, what happened there was no one’s fault but the Freys. They did it all themselves and they will suffer for it all. We shall make sure of that.”

Arya looks up at him then and something clicks. “If Rickon is alive, does that mean Bran is as well?”

“Yes,” Jon says. “But he is not safe. He is with some people who are not good, who do not want the best for him. Rickon has gone to ensure that they do not hold him for much longer.”

Arya nods and then asks. “Why are you not with Rickon then? He might be whatever you say he is, but he has never fought before. You have, you were in the Watch and they sang of your deeds as well where I was. How come you did not go north with him?”

She regrets asking the question the moment it leaves her lips, for a look of deep sorrow crosses her brother’s face. “Because I had to be the Stark in Winterfell. And there was much and more that needed to be done ensure that nothing went awry with Rickon fighting in the north.”

“But you wanted to go north didn’t you?” Arya asks she can see it in his face, his desire and anger that he was not allowed to go north.

“I did, and I do. But I know my duty, and if I were not here you would not have returned. We must celebrate this tonight, but for now you must go and bathe, for you do smell to the heavens little sister.” Her brother teases her

Arya laughs and punches his arm. “Of course I do stupid. But you look worse than I smell. Why do you have a beard? What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What makes you think I am trying to impress someone little sister?” her brother asks in mock surprise.

Arya grins. “Because every time you ever had some hair on your chin when we were younger, you were trying to impress a girl, and I think it was Alys Karstark you were trying to impress last time.”

Her brother laughs and says. “There is no girl, but Sansa is coming home as well.”

Arya’s face falls then and she asks. “When?”

“Soon, I do not know when precisely, but she should be here soon.” Jon replies.


	24. Reunion

**12 th Month of 301 A.C. Somewhere beyond the wall**

**Brandon Stark**

_Bran’s eyes fly open then, his heart is hammering in his chest, his breathing is heavy, he does not know what he has seen but it is clear that something wrong has happened. Where was he? Was he inside the enemy or was he the enemy? He does not know, his breathing is harsh and fast. He looks around and when he sees Meera he calls to her and she comes running. “We need to leave, right now.” He says hurriedly. “Before they come back, we must leave.”_

As they trudged through the snow worrying about whether or not they were being followed, Bran remembers those words, the words he had said after learning the horrifying truth. He had been inside the old enemy, the nightmare from the fairy tales and had seen the one who had placed him that thing’s mind. He had felt sick and disgusted, and as such he had realised why he had brought here. Not to save the world but to destroy it, and that, that worried him and shamed him. He had been too blind to see it before, but now, now he saw it all too clearly and it worried him.

The children were not a good people or race. They had been once, but now, now they were corrupt, that was why the long night had come, for the gods of old had taken displeasure with the corruption of the children and so they had come and driven the children from the world. And yet the children had not wanted to go and so they worked and worked hard and turned man and man against one another and turned the old man who was now a dead king into their ally and puppet. Bran looked at Meera as she ate and worried what she might think of him if he told her what he had done. She looked at him and said. “What has you so worried my prince? You look as if a wolf is going to come and kill us.”

Bran hesitates for a moment and then says. “That nearly happened. There were things I saw during my dreams that made me wonder just what the children were doing.”

Meera’s face hardens at this. “They killed Jojen, I saw them do it. After you were fed the paste, he died, and they were responsible for it, them and that damned seer. They were no good and yet he insisted on coming here.”

“They made him come here. I do not think he ever truly wanted to come here,” Bran says. “They forced him to come through the dreams. Some were real others were not, but whatever it was they made him see, it convinced him that we had to come here.”

“But why? Why did they drag us here, to this barren wasteland, where nothing but death roams and their people thrive even though they said the opposite was true?” Meera asks.

He hesitates once more, not sure whether or not he should tell her the truth, but decides that he has told enough lies for one lifetime. Swallowing, he takes a deep breath and says. “So that they could use me. They always said I was powerful, more powerful than the three eyed crow, and they wanted to use that power for their own selfish ends.”

“What ends? What did they want to use you for?” Meera asks.

“They wanted to use me to control the world, to restore things back to the way they had been before the old gods cast them down.” Bran says.

“I thought they were the gods?” Meera asks. “In the neck we worshipped them not the trees.”

Bran sighs. “That was how things were in the old days, when the first men first came. Then they got too high and the old gods cast them down. Death came from the lands of always winter and took the children away from where they once roamed. The Andals did the rest. The children always resented that, and so they plotted and planned their way back to power, and they have been doing so for millennia.”

Meera looks at him astonished. “You must have seen wrong. That cannot be possible. Why would the children try to bring the darkness back? They were the ones who aided us in times past, not the old gods, only the children came to the aid of man when the darkness threatened to encroach on us.”

Bran sighs once more. “That was something those who worked for them wanted us to believe. They continued to repeat the tale and so the original tale got lost over the years, and when the children began to disappear they became seen as the gods who had done good for us. Whilst in actual fact they were driven out by our ancestors. It is the way things have gone for many years now.”

“And the White Walkers? What of them? Do they have some role in this? If they were sent by the old gods before, have they been sent by them again?” Meera asks.

Bran looks at Meera sadly, “The Walkers are not what we think them to be now. They are agents of death yes, but they work not for the old gods anymore but for the children. They have been working for them ever since their leader met Leaf so many years ago and she healed his broken heart. That was the fate they wanted for me.”

Meera looks at him horrified. “They wanted you to become that thing, that thing that killed my brother? Why in the name of the gods would they want that?”

“Because they know nothing different, and they will be looking for me soon enough, so we must go.” Bran says.

Before she can respond the sound of horses reaches them and before they know it they are surrounded by armed men, the leader of whom is bearded and auburn haired. He looks at the man and hears him whisper. “Bran….”

* * *

 

**King Rickon I Stark**

They had trekked through the snow, their horses either dying or slowly coming back to life or they had walked through it. it was very thick around here, the white walkers and their king might be dead, but the true enemy was further north, in a place where the gods told him he would find his brother. They were riding through, and voices had been heard, following the voices they had found them, a giant, a girl and his brother sprawled out on the ground. Summer, his brother’s direwolf whom he had fought was with them and immediately bounded toward Bran, but Rickon remained where he was mounted atop his horse, though he could not help but whisper his brother’s name.

His brother’s eyes snap right to him and he looks at him and asks. “Robb?”

Rickon sighs. “No, not Robb, but Rickon. I have come to bring you home brother.”

His brother looks surprised then and the girl exclaims. “You must be lying, for Prince Rickon is no more than a little boy.”

Before Rickon can snap at her, his brother replies. “The old gods changed him, I see it now. The crow spoke of such things that happened once long ago, and now it seems they happen once more. So have you come to retake the north then brother?”

Rickon is surprised by just how calm his brother truly is, and it takes him a moment to reply. “I have taken Winterfell back, and the northern lords have sworn fealty. But of course you already knew that. I know who it was inside the night’s king head brother, and though you were not in your right mind we shall be having discussions about that when we return.”

From the way his brother glances nervously at the girl, Rickon wonders if he has feelings for her. Hiding a grin, he looks at his men and says. “We can either camp out here for the night or continue onward. The Children will still be there when the time comes, and yet I would not wish to delay any further.”

His brother nods. “That is wise brother, for the more time you spend delaying the more time you give them to prepare, and they will be ready for you, they have been waiting for this day for thousands of years.”

Rickon merely grins. “Then I shall give them what it is they want and have it over and done with before the darkness truly settles. You shall begin your return toward the wall now, with Hoarfrost here, and we shall advance.”

“I can be of use to you Your Grace!” his brother protests. “I know them and their ways it will be far easier for me to get you in unnoticed than if you stumble there.”

Rickon gives his brother a hard stare. “That is not necessary. You will only be putting yourself at more risk. They nearly took you away once before, they shall not do so again. I will not allow it, nor shall I allow anything else to come about from it. The days of the children controlling our people are done.”

“What do you intend to do with them?” his brother asks, something like concern in his voice.

Rickon merely glances at his brother and says. “Kill them. I will kill them all.” With that he barks some commands and sets off at a fast gallop to where his senses are telling him the children’s cave is. The closer they get to the cave, the more his heart begins hammering anticipation fills him, he barks the commands and torches are lit the dragonglass is prepared, and the moment they get close enough he roars a command. “Loose.” And the arrows, the dragonglass and the torches are all unleashed, there is a scream as it covers the air, the cave burns and melts and shifts, and the children come to bear burning and snarling.

He draws his sword and roars a command and his men and he go charging into the breach. His sword swings and the enemy falls, swinging, slashing and cutting, the dance is the same but the enemy is different. They know somethings but they do not know everything, he uses the things they have forgotten and traded away for something else. He cuts them away and destroys them leaving them nothing but charred corpses as the flames continue to spread. He roars and Shaggydog howls and the battle continues. The fray is destroyed the children are dying and he, he is laughing, laughing at how sure they were of their victory and now they are dead, all completely dead and broken.  Sweet success. It feels good to be winning against the most hated enemy.

The children are dead, their cave is burned and victory is his. Tired and weary, Rickon orders his men to return to the wall and so begins their long march, they join Bran and the girl, who Rickon learns is called Meera, on their way back home. They talk about things, the living and the dead, and prepare for life after all the dust has settled, Rickon knows there will be issues over who should succeed but he does not care overly much he will bend the lords to his will if he has to. He does not wish to do that, but he knows that sometimes a man does not have a choice. No matter what happens he will ensure that the north is strong and secure, never again will they break before the south.

The sight of the wall is a welcome one, something he never thought he would say, and yet they are greeted by cheers and roars of approval as things progress. And there is a long night of celebration drinking and feasting. Rickon revels in it with his men, enjoying the feeling of victory and knowing that come morning he will not need to worry about this, that or the other. That is something he feels happy about, very, very happy about. He takes Osha’s hand and kisses it, smiling. The black wolf of winter is very, very happy.


End file.
